Star Wars: Seekers
by Totem Of Storms
Summary: The story of two Jedi Seekers in the days following Order 66, how they survived, and what they did next.
1. Prologue

**Star Wars: Seekers**

The room is in darkness, with only a faint light shining through the gap in the curtains. There is little that is worth the effort of its illumination; the room is mostly bare, with a bed with a pair of shelves above it, and a single locker. The room's sole occupant lies on the bed, his face relaxed, but with several frown lines burnt so firmly into the folds of his skin that their echoes can be seen even when he is deeply asleep.

The world outside this room is quiet, the darkness of the deep night being matched by the dimming of the day's activities; this is a place that chooses to sleep at night. Only the occasional sounds in the distance hint of the continuity of life beyond these walls.

As the night wears on though, the figure on the bed becomes restless. It is a gradual thing, as if he is slipping slowly into a nightmare, with its horrors unfolding piecemeal as if to draw out the agony of their import.

_Blue sparks flash through the air. A line of purple light, blazing like the lightning that crackled off it, flashed through the air._

The figure writhes as if trying to escape from some peril, sweat beading on his brow and bare chest as panic seems to fill him.

_Muffled words cut through the howling wind, their content lost to the haze of the dream but their meaning of betrayal being all too clear._

A stillness follows, perhaps more terrible than the writhing torment that had previously been present; something terrible is still happening, and the figure on the bed is helpless before it, unable to avoid this awful sight and unable to prevent the evil that he sees must occur from it.

The stillness seems to extend beyond the room, as the sounds of the rest of the world become muted, almost washed out, as the tension in the air tightens its grip. The figure trembles, fighting against some unseen bond, as the nightmare continues to play out its sick chronicle, uncaring of the pain it might cause.

As the silence continues to deepen, the figure seems to relax slightly, some of the tension perhaps draining from the air. Whatever the nightmare had to deliver was now perhaps done-

_\- A flash and a roar, almost deafening, strikes at him from behind. Heat lifts him, tosses him, hurls him towards the distant water –_

_\- Snow falls as he runs forward. Why have they not followed? Shards of heat and light cut through him, sear him, almost matching the burning in his soul at the thought of their betrayal –_

_\- Wind whips at him as he drives onwards, the spray of the rivers and marshes washing over him even as a flash reveals the unsuspected foe who strikes from behind –_

_\- Across a hundred worlds, a thousand times over, the same deed is played out again and again and again, the echoes of pain, of betrayal, of confusion, bouncing, reflecting, twirling and splintering, their sum total pouring into the dream that became a nightmare that became all too quickly a reality from which there is no escape -_

The figure tears himself upright, the sweat flying from his brow. His face is vacant, the expressions that pass across it ones of horror, confusion, as he tries to comprehend what he has just seen...


	2. Chapter 1

**Out of the Darkness**

_The war had mostly passed me by._

_That's the thing about being a Seeker; nobody really expects you to b capable of anything apart from your job - finding potential Jedi._

_We're trained to fight, to negotiate, to heal and to protect, just like the rest. But we're also trained to find, to seek out, to bring in those that do not know their potential, and to help those that may abuse theirs without knowing._

_It's interesting work, and it takes you to interesting and out of the way places. It has to since we're the only ones to whom this labour can fall. Have you ever had a Jedi turn up near where you live and claim that they think someone's child has the potential to join the Order? No indication, no medical checks, no background searches. Just a Jedi that suddenly turns up on your doorstep... Who tells them?_

_We do. The Seekers tell the Jedi where to find potential Jedi, because that's what we have to do. We see the universe in ways that other Jedi cannot, and because of that our duties are preordained by the will of the Force. And even in the height of war, when every able body is needed to aid the war, we continued to seek, never wavering, always searching..._

* * *

_3 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Tagheleph - Outer Rim Territories_

A world in perpetual darkness was visible through the window.

Tagheleph was a young world, its surface still hot enough to boil away the rain that fell constantly from the skies, except in a few places where more solid rocks had cooled from contact with the lower clouds, forming mountains and ranges. The earliest Republic survey had reported similar activity when they had investigated this world, and one member of the team had noted that the activity probably wouldn't subside for hundreds of thousands of years as the planet itself cooled down, rather than just the surface. Certainly the visual records from back then didn't appear to indicate any apparently reduction since that first report twenty thousand years ago.

It was a hellish place to live, having yet to spawn life of its own beyond the most primitive and bizarre of protein strands as the chemicals in the oceans mixed, and the only reason that there was any kind of official presence here was for show; the world was only really of use to smugglers and traders with something to hide. The Republic outpost was more of a formal admission that they couldn't stop such activities and an ongoing warning that one day they might get around to taxing such activities, even out this far from the Core.

For now, it served one additional purpose, for which the regular inhabitants were not happy; its position made it very useful as a staging area for a military force wanting to move quickly through this sector, and a Venator class Star Destroyer, the _Stylite_, hung in geosynchronous orbit over the main Republic facility, with a pair of Dreadnaughts in different polar orbits that allowed the three ships to keep almost every orbital track under watch constantly.

Few people on the planet were happy about this, as normal business was thrown into chaos. The war had so far produced quite a bit of profit for the planet, largely by staying well away from it and letting the traders get on with their business, but now the war had come to Tagheleph without any kind of explanation, despite the lack of any Separatist forces in the area.

The individual charged with command of the _Stylite_ stood, looking out over the view of the surface of Tagheleph. Rain battered constantly at the window, and the pounding against the facility's hull armour was only partially muted by the sound deadeners in the walling. Beyond the edge of the domed facility's skirt, the water sloughed off the metalwork onto the ground. At this altitude it was quite cool, but even up here the water boiled away within the first twenty metres.

The figure watched with fascination; a lifetime of working with machines of some kind or another had left him with the constant expectation that at any second the heat from the ground would finally be stripped away and the water would claim this world. It was almost impossible to think on the kind of scale of energy that would be required to keep this process going for twenty thousand years, and as each moment passed he had found himself wondering at the fact that it still did not stop.

A diffident cough drew his attention away from the window. Even without turning he recognised the presence of his aide, one of the few non-cloned Humans under his command. "Yes lieutenant?"

"Sir, the base's commander insists on speaking to you."

"He's already insisted a number of times," the figure replied with a tight humour. "Has there been any word from our agents yet?"

"Only one so far," lieutenant Tacha replied, glancing down at a datapad. His uniform was clean and fresh, and also very new; given the urgency with which the _Stylite_ had been pushed into action, the crew had already been issued with new uniforms to match the coming changes, before anyone else had. The grey jacket, trousers, and cap had been custom tailored by the ship's manufactory on-route to the Outer Rim, and the code-cylinder that he wore carried the latest authentications for new operations.

"Two Jedi were tracked trying to enter El Tanrass, on Mokiah. Commander Collis reports that neither was trying very hard to hide themselves, though they panicked when they realised that they had been located and his troops were forced to use lethal force to stop them. Six clones are dead, and the rest of the convoy was sufficiently panicked that Collis reports that some people got past his blockade."

"Including, potentially, some Jedi?"

"He admits that possibility," Tacha agreed.

"I shouldn't be surprised," the figure declared. "The clones have served well for the war, but we really can't be relying on them now. As soon as we can bring the regular naval forces up to speed, we will be a lot better off." He paused for a few seconds to watch through the window, then sighed. "Well, I don't think this view will change soon. What do we have on the commander?"

"A Duro, appointed eight years ago. He's on good terms with most of the traders, and if I may say, someone we would want to keep on our side. The smugglers aren't likely to take kindly to him being replaced for instance."

"We shall see," the figure replied. "Show him in," he instructed, still looking out of the window at the view.

Tacha left, and for a moment there was silence. That silence was split rather abruptly by the sound of a commotion, which caused the figure to turn, not in surprise, but rather at a speed that indicated curiosity instead. The noise grew, and the conference room's door opened, admitting three figures, all of whom were shouting, and one of whom shoved lieutenant Tacha aside as the human tried to stop them.

The figure took perhaps half a second to consider this, then raised a hand as if waving farewell to someone.

One of the figures, a blue skinned Twi'lek, was very abruptly picked up and flung back against the wall, where he found himself pinned, very forcefully.

"I was informed that the commander of this facility wished to speak to me," the figure declared. "I can only presume therefore that the pair of you are intruding without permission, especially since you feel the need to manhandle my adjutant in order to gain entry." Tacha had slipped into the room now, careful not to interrupt the figure's line of sight to the Twi'lek.

"I'm sorry sir," Tacha apologised, rubbing his chest where the Twi'lek had shoved him. "These two are apparently captains from cargo ships that use the facility."

"Well," the figure said, lowering his hand and allowing the Twi'lek to fall back to the floor, "If they have a legitimate grievance then I will of course be willing to hear it. Just as certainly," he added as his voice dropped to just short of being threatening, "As I am _not_ interested in whining."

That gave them pause, as they felt the force of those words drive home more strongly than mere speech should allow them to. They could not of course know how he was doing that, though no doubt they guessed.

Apparently deciding to get things moving rather than to wait for the locals to introduce themselves, the figure drew himself up. He was taller than any of them, with black hair that was done in a ragged style, somewhat at odds with the rest of his appearance. Unlike the lieutenant, or any of the others that had accompanied him down to the surface, the figure was not in an official uniform as such; he wore a set of padded body armour, in a different style to that of the Clones, but with a greater sense of power to it. Over that, hanging from the pauldrons, was a black cloak.

Piercing green eyes focused on each of the three in turn, as he considered each of them, thoroughly unnerving each of them in turn as well.

"I am Inquisitor Temmis Srael, of the Inquisitorius, an elite branch of the new Imperial Intelligence. I am tasked by our Emperor with tracking down those Jedi that may have escaped the initial purges of their numbers. This is of course a time-consuming task, and I would truly hate to find my time wasted by... Trivial issues..."

* * *

_Yehgast – Outer Rim Territories_

Daylight was a reassuring thing now, even if this was too bright. It made it hard to see the holoscreen that flickered in the middle of the table's surface, though the words were easily enough to tell what was going on. The Republic New Service logo was just visible, something that Rafe had reason to suspect was going to get them in trouble in the very near future.

The holoscreen was a cheap model, as might be expected for a cheaper travel lodge like this one. The rooms were clean of course, and the quality was okay, because Yehgast had managed to sit out most of the Clone Wars and so had been spared most of the trouble that it had presented to others. The equipment though, on this comparatively backwards planet, was less than reliable; basics and necessities were easy to find locally, but such things as holoscreens somehow failed to come under either heading and imports had been unreliable over the last couple of years.

"_The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated_!"

The voice was familiar. It had to be; it had been hard over the last twelve years to get away from Chancellor Palpatine. Now however his voice, though still recognisable, was twisted somehow, as if speaking was a strain to him. This showed more prominently in his next statement, as his voice dropped to a less strident level, and becoming almost pitifully weak.

"_The attempt on my life has left me scarred, and deformed_." He seemed to rally somewhat, as if the thought of action revived him. "_But, I assure you, my resolve has never been stronger_."

The transmission shifted abruptly, the background noise changing sufficiently that Rafe would have been able to tell, even without reading the scrolling headlines at the bottom of the display, that this was a collection of highlights from a few hours earlier. Palpatine now seemed to be on a roll, his voice once more becoming strident as he shaped the future of the galaxy around himself.

"_In order to ensure security and continuing prosperity, the Republic will be reorganised, into the First! Galactic! Empire! For safe, and secure, society_!" Those last words seemed to have a forced quality to them, as if they didn't come naturally to the mind that spoke them and were being added as a distasteful afterthought. Rafe knew that they made him want to lose his own lunch.

Not that that was an option. He hadn't really eaten enough recently as it was, and losing an entire meal wasn't going to help matters. It wasn't a lack of opportunity of course; but since the visions had forced their way into his mind during the night, he had found his appetite had vanished.

With a gesture that verged on being angry, he stabbed at the holoscreen's controls, shutting the device down. It was infuriating for Rafe to have to witness this, and not merely because he was one of the people being branded as a danger to society; his own ability to predict the future through the currents of the Force was fairly limited, bordering on useless compared to most Jedi. As such, he had prided himself on being able to look at the future with a greater logical clarity than some Jedi seemed to be capable of. And yet it was only with hindsight that he saw this coming...

It had been a harrowing time over the last few days, since the night when he had woken from sleep with visions of death and betrayal etched across his dreams. Even during his waking hours, of which there had been far too many in proportion to the time he had spent asleep, the assault on his consciousness had continued, as the few Jedi in the field to escape the initial slaughter had been tracked down and killed. For a short while there had seemed to be a lull, before his attention had been drawn to the Temple on Coruscant.

He had only been there in person once before, years earlier, when he had been passing on information about a potential Jedi that he had spotted in one of the less salubrious areas of Coruscant. It had been a flying visit, and the overcrowded feeling of the city-planet of Coruscant had spoiled the visit for him, so that he had never truly appreciated the place properly. Most Jedi probably didn't even notice how badly congested the area around the Temple was, though Rafe had had difficulty ignoring it.

What he remembered most about the Temple was the strange style of the architecture. It had been an ancient style, in keeping with the ancient Jedi temples that had existed over the millennia, and though it did not favour the more secular or cerebral side of the Force as Aounam had, there had been a sense of gathered wisdom and experience to it that had added a mystic touch to somewhere that wasn't really old enough to deserve such a feel.

Watching as the Temple had been assaulted, as the Jedi within it had been slaughtered by the cloned warriors so helpfully provided to the Republic, had been a torture of sorts, not least because of his inability to affect events. As each Jedi was cut down he had at one and the same time tried to shy away from the terrible scene, whilst not allowing himself to do so, lest these events should go unremembered.

The bleeping of the holoscreen's communicator was a welcome distraction to Rafe; morbid thoughts had been given too long to stew, and some kind of distraction would be welcome at this point. Besides, he had a feeling that this conversation would lead to action. There weren't that many people who knew where he was at the moment.

As the screen flickered into life once more, Rafe was pleased to find his suspicions confirmed as to the caller's identity. The face that looked out of the screen at him was an angular affair, as was normal for a Kobayite. Solid lines and edges formed a pointed brow, leading down to a vertically mounted jaw that was filled with sharp teeth. The skin was a dark green normally, though rendered a strange shade of blue by the holoscreen's filters, and was tough; not quite leathery, and not quite scales, it was hard to guess at the base genus of this species, even allowing for the fact that nothing other than the head could be seen, as everything else faded rather abruptly into the mists that swirled around the gently drifting head.

Jedi Master Tyrand was a familiar sight to most Seekers, as she handled many of the assignments for the Seekers that operated out of Aounam. She had never managed to get there herself of course, being unable to breath the planet's air, and unwilling to use any kind of environmental suit, but she remained a familiar face in spite of this.

"Master Tyrand. You felt their deaths?" To anyone else such a blunt question might have seemed peculiar. To a Seeker of course, given recent events, there was only one possible thing that he could have been talking about, and Master Tyrand was a very capable Seeker.

{Of course. Disturbing. Deceived.}

Rafe took a moment to translate what shi had said, in her rather rapid version of the Daneyee language that Rafe had grown up speaking alongside basic. "I guess we were," he replied, not entirely sourly. "I just saw Palpatine explaining how he was attacked by the Jedi. That might explain the attacks by the Clones, but not-"

{Sith need their own reasons,} Tyrand interrupted. {No others matter.}

Rafe was caught off-guard by that one. That Palpatine had arranged things had been obvious, but beyond that... "He was a Sith?"

{By own word and deed,} Tyrand confirmed. {Betrayed.}

"We need to find other members of the Order," Rafe declared after a few seconds thought. "Kyle and I are still here on Yehgast. Will you be able to-"

Tyrand looked off to the side, as the distorted sound of blaster fire was carried over the channel. {What is-} Very abruptly, the channel died, the image being replaced for a few seconds by the holonet's 'connection lost' message before it shut down.

Rafe gaped at the blank space for the second, then called out, both verbally and through the Force, "Master? Master Tyrand?"

Silence, deeper than before, was the only reply.

* * *

_Kapao – Outer Rim Territories_

Kapao's primary spaceport was an airy, open, affair; a world and a culture away from the tight and close warrens that most of the Outer Rim worlds chose to build as a landing place. Most of them, like Kapao, hadn't been a part of the Republic before the war began, and were far enough off the beaten track that the major powers weren't interested in expending the effort it would require to bring them into the war.

As such, with no official status, most worlds had turned to the traditional pastime of those in such a situation; playing both sides off against each other for their own profit.

It had paid off in some cases. Worlds like Tagheleph, whose dark caverns and perpetual cloud cover made it a perfect place for secret dealings, had thrived from the black market trade of weapons and supplies. Or Khaligulus, with its three moons and two asteroid belts, with thousands of holes for anyone to hide in while they did business.

Kapao had kept itself out of that line of business, and had retained the status of a free port during the war, largely by keeping anything military away from itself, and by allowing a lot of rich people to make themselves at home in suitably scenic areas. Such people were of that special class that had few actual political connections, even when they used such connections to their advantage on a daily basis, and many would merely view this war as a time of turmoil before things settled down to the same old routine once again. It might be under a different name, but the leadership of the galaxy went on.

The main spaceport tried to reflect this attitude, with well decorated, open spaces where conversations of any legality could take place in comfort and privacy. The ships were in well established docks, and guarded by a myriad collection of subtle devices and wards, intended to present the greatest possible security with the less possible inconvenience to the patrons.

That was fine to Sthynn. He tried bravely to match the confident swagger of a great hunter, and though he felt that he wasn't doing it justice, he was sure that only another Rodian would know the difference.

He moved through the crowds, easily keeping his attention focused on his surroundings, despite his comparative lack of training in the hunting arts; mother had always said that he was better with his hands than he was at hunting, and though he didn't like the idea of disappointing his father, he was pleased that his mother was being proven right in more than one way.

His clothes had cost him quite a bit; the impractical, glittery style of the locals that frequented the spaceport was hard to reproduce cheaply without appearing fake. His jacket was an impressive shade of red, with lines of rhode stones down the sleeves, and a silver star pattern across one shoulder. The trousers were a deep black, with gold-fibre piping and a tassel hanging from the belt, the threads of the tassel being a good imitation of the refined black diamond fibres that the locals prized.

A few guards, a token show of force to dissuade those who didn't appreciate the atmosphere the locals had created, glanced at him as he sauntered past them, but no one took any real notice. For now he was just another Rodian, perhaps not as well off as some of their other customers, but still nothing that they needed to worry about.

That was as intended at least; they hadn't taken much more notice of him the day before when he had been in. Then of course they had ignored him because he was in the guise of a mechanic, with a cap jammed onto his head between his antennae, and a comically over-large toolkit, the size carefully calculated to attract humour at expense of the poor fool, but not pity enough that someone would assist him.

The ease with which people ignored him now he took as a testament to his tailoring skills, as well as his acting ability. That and the news that had come through from the Core; everyone was getting excited about some broadcast from the Senate about the war being over. It was hard to believe that it could be over that easily; in Sthynn's experience people wouldn't simply stop fighting overnight like that, even if their leaders were taken out. In various kinds of gangs you simply got someone else taking over and becoming the new Big Man, in companies and corporations, and even in armies, you simply promoted someone to fill the gap. Unless _all_ of the leaders were taken out simultaneously that was. Then the confusion might be enough to put an end to things.

The guards were fewer around docking platform C; this was the executive area, where the patrons were granted the best security available, in the form of prudence shields, automated mounted weapons, droid guards, and constant security monitoring. This was an area for people that didn't want regular guards to be hanging around making their ships look untidy.

And that was fine for Sthynn, because though you couldn't bribe droids – at least not the less advanced or more unimaginative models that were used as guards – there were always other options.

He slipped into the gap between two pillars, and glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. He was perfectly on time, or maybe even a bit early. With a final glance around, he slipped his jacket off, reversing it so that the black inside was showing. Once again, it was well calculated; a black that was designed to blend into the shadows without become more visible by being too black. The gold piping detached easily from his trousers, the electronic probes concealed inside it and within the tassel coming out easily.

He had already picked his target; the ship directly opposite his hiding place was a nice looking Corellian Action VI transport, clearly refitted to be more than just a cargo hauler. It was likely that at least some of the 90,000 metric tons of cargo space had been rebuilt as luxury quarters, which was precisely the sort of thing that Sthynn was interested in.

Above him, the sun's inexorable journey across the sky triggered the sunshades to switch to their afternoon positions, the whirring of their motors setting dust particles dancing along the length of the platform, and deepening the shadows along platform C in the process. In response to that, braziers set into the wall burst into flames, adding a new dimension to the executive atmosphere.

Sthynn glanced at his chronometer again, then prepared to dash across to his target. It wouldn't be wise to be too long about this, and he didn't have that long before-

"Beat it kid," a voice behind him said in Basic as the cold metal of a blaster barrel was pressed abruptly against the back of his neck. "That one's spoken for."

Sthynn froze; shocked as much by the fact that someone had snuck up on him as by the fact that it apparently wasn't a security force that had done so. The voice had sounded human, and female, possibly quite young as well. The sound of her voice and the feel of her weapon against the back of his neck was the only hint that she even existed.

Turning his head as slowly as he could, and aware that he was still on a schedule of his own, Sthynn glanced out of the corner of his eye at the figure behind him. She was indeed Human, or near enough to make no difference, with light brown hair tied back into a plait, and shining blue eyes, one of which was only vaguely visible behind a HUD eyepiece. Her clothes were fairly typical spacer garb, consisting of a hard wearing jacket and trousers, with a pale shirt on beneath the jacket, which meant that she would stand out quite a bit in the Kapao spaceport. For a second Sthynn wondered how she had made it into this area dressed like that, before he caught of glimpse of two figures in mechanic's overalls behind her.

"Uh, this may not be a good time," he began in heavily accented Basic.

"Yeah, it isn't," the female replied. "Get out of here. We've got work to do."

Sthynn's chronometer abruptly vibrated, the alarm set carefully for a second before his handiwork went into action.

Despite this warning, he still winced as the lights flared and died, along with the faint tightness in the air that spoke of high-powered force fields fading as the security systems shut down. From the other landing platforms, sirens could be heard going off as the scrambler charges triggered alarms and tripped security systems. The ion grenades that he had wired into this section had very specifically deactivated the alarms rather than setting them off, and a couple of carefully set lumps of detonite had neatly killed both the backup power lines and the data lines that would tell people that the backups had failed. With the other alarms drawing their attention it would be several minutes at least before anyone thought to investigate Platform C.

The human looked around with interest, then consulted a vambrace computer, which showed quite a few red lights. She glanced up at Sthynn speculatively. "Your work?" When Sthynn nodded she glanced around again. "What's your racket then?"

"I am thief only," he assured her, very aware that the blaster still hadn't wavered from the back of his head the entire time. "Not armed," he added, just in case.

The female seemed to consider him for a few seconds, then nodded to someone Sthynn couldn't see. "Let's get moving. They'll be busy for a few minutes." She holstered the blaster, which Sthynn idly noticed was unusually bulky for a hand-held design, before addressing Sthynn again. "Okay, we're going to borrow your distraction. Now you can come with us, or I suggest that you find somewhere to hide."

"Come with you?" he asked, not entirely certain about what she meant.

"Sure," she agreed. "You just _sheiged_ the entire security system. I like that kind of skill. Besides, I can't exactly turn you in; I'm a thief as well. I'm just stealing something slightly larger than you."

"Um, may I ask what?"

"The ship," she replied simply. "Now, are you in, or are you out?"

Sthynn took the opportunity to look around. The two figures in mechanic's overalls had headed over to the Action VI, along with a humanoid droid of some kind and a Wookiee who carried two holstered blasters and currently wielded a long-barrelled projectile weapon of some description. They were standing around the main hatch of the freighter, and Sthynn wasn't entirely surprised when it opened. Clearly these people were well equipped and prepared.

* * *

_Yehgast – Outer Rim Territories_

Kyle trudged up the stairs to the hostel's landing and waved his key in the general direction of the door. A weariness of the mind and soul left his normally athletic footsteps dragging, such that the trip up the stairs to the second floor, which would normally have taken less than a minute, had seemed to drag onwards beyond any reasonable expectation.

It was a weariness that had been with him now for three days, since both he and his travelling companion had been woken in the middle of the night by the visions that had been forced upon them; the deaths of thousands of Jedi had been impossible to ignore, even to a mind trained to pick and choose between what parts of Totality it focused on. Despite years of training by Master Sei'lar, Kyle had found himself adrift a number of times over the night, and only Rafe's presence had kept him sufficiently centred that they had made it through together.

As the lock clicked open, Kyle slipped the key back into his jacket pocket, his hand briefly running across the bump in his shirt created by the coins on the leather band that he wore around his neck. A half-felt pain, its edge now dulled by the more prominent memory of what had happened more recently, flickered across his mind as he stepped into the apartment.

Rafe was sitting at the apartment's single desk, his expression distracted, as if he was thinking about something distasteful.

As he closed the door, Kyle considered Rafe Belwynn carefully. His companion was marginally taller than he himself was, with perhaps slightly less bulk to his build than Kyle carried. His clothes were a similar nature to Kyle's in that they were spacer garb, but beyond that they differed greatly, with Kyle's own being a blue jacket and black trousers, with a pale blue shirt beneath the jacket. Rafe's trousers and jacket was a stone or tan colour, whilst his shirt was grey.

Both of them had brown hair, though Kyle's was a few shades darker, whilst his eyes were a lighter shade of blue than Rafe's. Kyle's skin was a pale shade, something that any experienced spacer would recognise as being from someone who had been born, and spent much of their later time, in space, away from natural lighting. Rafe meanwhile had clearly spent much more time on a planet.

Their manners were different as well, as Kyle had quickly realised after they had met. His own manner came from his heritage; Corellian Jedi had always had a reputation for being more unruly than other Jedi, and even after a number of years of training on Coruscant Kyle had never given up that tradition. Rafe meanwhile came from a tradition that, while less well-known, was a far from that taught on Coruscant as Kyle's own was; Aounam had a different manner to it, just as any Jedi Temple did, though by necessity Aounam was even more isolated than many of the others were. The Jedi of Aounam tended towards the more spiritual, more thoughtful, side of the Jedi traditions. Then again, as Kyle had realised early on, Aounam couldn't help producing Jedi like that.

Without looking up from the blank holoscreen, Rafe seemed to acknowledge Kyle's presence. "Kyle... Were you able to find anything?"

Kyle shook his head, coming over to stand next to the table and wondering why Rafe was so concerned. "Not much. No one seems to know anything beyond the fact that the Clones attacked the Jedi shortly after General Grevious was reported dead."

"They do now," Rafe informed him as he sat back and finally looked up. "The news finally filtered through to the Outer Rim; Palpatine was in the Senate a few hours ago making a rousing speech about how he was attacked by a group of Jedi who were trying to stage a coup. He's officially outlawed the Jedi and declared that we're no longer a Republic."

"How did that happen?" Kyle asked, aghast. They had both known that the attack of the clones would be a herald of further troubles, but that the Jedi could become outlaws that easily...

"For safety and security," Rafe declared in a mock official, pompous, tone of voice. "Apparently he's the Sith Lord that we've all been looking for on and off for the last decade," Rafe continued in a more normal voice. "So it's no wonder the Senate has been granting him greater and greater powers over the course of this war."

Kyle considered that one, vital parts of the last ten years, ranging from the increasing anti-alien bias in the laws, through the corruption in the Senate, to the destruction of the Oracle at Pelgrin, suddenly began to make a lot more sense. And given what Kyle knew about the history of the Sith over the last few centuries... "Oh yeah, hiding in plain sight..." Scowling to himself at how badly they had been fooled, Kyle turned away, then turned back, considering Rafe once again. They had barely spoken over the last couple of days, and now that they were actually talking, there was something that he had to ask. "How come you're taking this so well?"

Rafe looked up at Kyle, still clearly deep in thought from whatever had occurred before Kyle came in. "Taking what?"

"All this..." Kyle said, gesturing around himself expansively, finding himself instinctively using the gesture that was apparently used on Aounam to indicate Totality, as Seekers saw it; something of a habit that he had picked up from Rafe. "Look, we're both Seekers. We're more sensitive to the deaths of other Jedi than... Well, than other Jedi," he finished somewhat lamely. "We both felt all of those Jedi been killed by the Clones. But..."

"But I'm not reacting?" Rafe said, finishing his statement for him. "Believe me, it hurts. It really does. Hah!" he barked. "Hundreds of Jedi being slain like that, I should be able to say that it's too much to take in. And intellectually it is. But I know that they're dead... I'm just keeping calm as best I can right now... I'm just waiting for a time when I can actually grieve... How are you holding out?"

"Well aside from having jealously at how calmly you're taking this added to my problems..." Kyle growled sourly, "I'm coping. Just about. I mean, I can still feel the deaths of my parents, and now all of these as well..." He paused, gathering his thoughts and running through one of the mental routines that Master Sei'lar had taught him for such an occasion as this, when emotion threatened to overwhelm reason. "Let's just keep focused for now. We need to find somewhere to hide."

"That'll be interesting," Rafe commented. "Our new Emperor just set the entire galaxy against us-"

"Emperor?" Kyle interrupted sharply.

"I'm sure I mentioned that part," Rafe replied, still clearly focusing on something else, and for the first time Kyle began to pick up the faint flickering through the Force as Rafe touched the Now, his attention only returning to the here-and-now enough to hold the conversation. "We're an empire now. He's calling it the first Galactic Empire, but it's just a rerun of the last Sith Empire. It's just that he's the only Sith in it so far."

"So far? Oh, yeah," Kyle said as he realised what Rafe meant. "Dark Jedi, general dark siders... Anyone that wasn't taken out by the Clones who decides they'd rather join the winning side than keep their soul."

"And that could be a few of them," Rafe said sourly, before abruptly seeming to bring his focus properly back to the apartment at last. "Oh, speaking of what we're going to do next, Master Tyrand got in touch with me."

Kyle smiled. "Well it's nice to hear that at least one other Seeker made it through aside from us. What did she say?" It wasn't entirely surprising that another Seeker had made it through of course; only a handful of the Seekers in the Order had been assigned to the war effort, and so only a few would have been caught by the Clones.

Rafe shrugged. "Oh, the usual. You know how well her language translates normally... Betrayal, deception, the fact that Palpatine was a Sith... We were getting onto what we're going to do next when I heard blasters and the line went dead."

Kyle's smile vanished at that. "Was she hurt?"

"I don't know," Rafe admitted. "Like I said, the line went dead. We're just going to have to wait for-"

_Dark gases swirl, and the lighting flickers suddenly. A Lightsabre, hissing and spitting like a spit-roast, ignited in the air, driving vortices upwards and around._

_A voice cries out from the far side of the room, haunting plaintive, the words lost in the swirl of the fog and the hammering that comes from the far side of the iris-door. A figure, Kobayite, but somehow less angular than she had ever appeared on a holoscreen, staggers into view, calling back to the huddled figures as she waved the Lightsabre in the direction of the iris-door._

_The pounding increases, and through the vision-haze the figures beyond it can be seen, armoured, their suits sealed against the alien air, their weapons twisted both against their normal shape and against the shape of this place._

_A flicker is all the warning that is available as the door explodes inwards, a single tick as a timer reaches zero._

_The Lightsabre flashes through the swirling air, leaving trails behind it as it does. Splinters of light, sickly and alien, twist through the air, burning and destroying walls and flesh._

_A single scream echoes across the Now as the Lightsabre falls. _

Kyle steadied himself against the wall, as Rafe slowly released his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table. Both of them had a layer of sweat across their brows, and Kyle found himself having to force his chest to move so that he could draw breath. Neither of them had seen anything of Tyrand beyond what appeared on a holoscreen, let alone suspected that such emotion could be found in someone who normally had trouble conjugating Basic.

After several minutes, Kyle managed to relax without feeling his chest stop moving, and collapsed into a seat. "Well that answers my question..."

* * *

_Tagheleph - Outer Rim Territories_

The facility's commander had cleared the pair of captains from the room very quickly when he realised who and what he was dealing with. The delayed broadcast of the announcement of the formation of the Empire had smoothed the way somewhat, and Srael had found it much easier to arrange a polite and private conversation with the commander after that.

"This station has shown good profit recently," the commander explained, pouring a glass of wine for his guest. "We have no wish for the war to continue unnecessarily of course, but while it continues-"

"Continued," Srael corrected him. "We must all start to use the past tense now."

"The death of General Grievous will of course be a set-back to the Separatists," the commander agreed diplomatically, "But surely he was not the only leader... After all, such certainty was not given for their defeat when Count Dooku was killed..."

"Count Dooku was a different matter," Srael replied. "He was the spiritual and political heart of the Separatists. Without him they had blind faith in what they understood of his ideology to rely on. Without Grievous though, their tactical and strategic capabilities are lost. With Dooku around they might have stood a chance, but now... It is only a matter of time before the other leaders are tracked down and stopped for good."

"And the Jedi you say..."

"The time of the Jedi is past," Srael declared. "Their attempted assassination of the Emperor is testament to the corruption that has crept into their ranks. Reliance on that kind of mysticism within the Republic is no doubt part of the reason that the Separatists were able to gain so much strength and support."

"But, your own abilities..."

Srael gave a somewhat cruel smile, though with enough of an edge of humour to it that the commander relaxed; clearly the joke was at someone else's expense. "I was never trained as a Jedi. Instead, I was passed over, but my talents have since been discovered. Even around the start of the Clone Wars, the Emperor foresaw a time when the Jedi would become dangerous, and he would have need of other agents with capabilities beyond those of normal soldiers. I and a number of others that the Jedi... missed... over the years, have been training for the time when we would be needed. That time is now, and we are ready to serve the new Empire."

"I see... How may we assist the Empire then?"

"My forces will need to talk to some of the traders that pass through here," Srael declared. "I have been made aware of twenty Jedi that are still potentially at large. If any of those traders see, or have seen, anything that is pertinent than I need to know about it as quickly as possible."

The commander looked concerned, or as concerned as a Duro could manage to. "Inquisitor, I should remind you that these traders have... Some of them we are certain do not conduct legitimate trade," he said carefully. "They may not wish to speak of such activities as shipping Jedi around, or even admit to being in a place where they might have seen a Jedi."

"I am sure that you can be persuasive," Srael replied. "After all, I have no interest in their activities at this time, so I don't care where they were or what they were doing there. Once the Jedi are dealt with of course, it will be a different matter, but at the rate things are going now that could conceivably be months away. That is surely plenty of time for them to adjust their operations to being legitimate ones."

"Of course... But even so..."

Srael sighed inwardly. Working with aliens was not something that he had a particular issue with, since there had been aliens of one sort or another around him constantly from quite a young age. His issue was with people being obstructive, and that was something that he no longer had time for.

"I am sure that you will do your best to help the Empire in this matter," Srael declared, his free hand shifting slightly as he raised his glass with the other.

"I will do my best to help the Empire," the commander declared, his voice carrying a hint of blankness as his mind processed the thought that had just been drilled into it. "The traders may take some time to convince," he warned.

"I have some time to spare whilst other sources provide me with information," Srael assured him. "But remind those who hesitate that I am _choosing_ to ignore their actions. Imperial Intelligence will not look kindly upon those that we find to have aided the enemy, and should my patience wear too thin, I can assure you that I will find plenty of time to devote to them and their activities once I am finished with the Jedi."

* * *

_Yehgast – Outer Rim Territories_

Rafe splashed water from the sink across his face, soaking his hair. His mouth gaped in a silent cry as he threw back his head, allowing the chilling water to run down his neck and under his shirt. The sensation caused him to shiver, but helped to focus himself to the Here, his physical self. He had heard of some who had become lost in visions of great disasters and significant events before now, their souls damned to rush back and forth within the vision, trying to correct things that they could not change, heedless of the illusory nature of the vision.

He needed that centring at this point. Part of him, he knew, was still out there, wherever Master Tyrand had been when she had died. The Totality that was the Now clawed at his mind, seeming to pull him deeper into itself. Resisting was hard, the feeling that he had actually been there and should have been able to do something still digging into him.

Opening his eyes he looked into the mirror above the sink, and tried to blink away the star patterns that he saw in it; he didn't recognise the stars of course, though he knew well enough that they were a view of where Tyrand had died, as seen from the ethereal eye as it withdrew back to his physical body. Whilst not something that he was used to in practise, he was familiar enough with the theoretical concept to not be immediately worried by it.

Stepping out into the apartment's living area, he forced himself to focus onto different things around the room; the table, the chairs, a holograph on the wall, the shape of the window...

Kyle stepped out of the small bedroom that they had shared for the past three days, and nodded in Rafe's direction. Kyle's connection to the Now was comparatively less than Rafe's due to the earlier age at which Rafe's capability had been recognised, though Rafe doubted that Kyle was finding it much easier to handle what had happened than he was himself.

Eager to get on with things, at least for a while, and with something of an idea about what they could do next, Rafe spoke.

"Okay, so now we know that Master Tyrand is dead... She wasn't at the temple, so she was probably aboard the _Eye of Caliron_. Hers was the most secure chamber aboard the ship, since she needed a unique atmosphere. Thus, the rest of the Jedi aboard it have probably been killed as well. At the very least we can assume that the ship is not coming to help us."

Kyle nodded, clearly eager to have some kind of action now. "Well my ship's still in dock. Nobody here knows for certain that we're Jedi-"

"Unless," Rafe interrupted, "they've got the records from the _Eye of Caliron_ and know to look here."

"-in which case we're probably got a couple of hours," Kyle concluded. "I mean let's face it, our movements aren't even well known to other Seekers, let alone to the rest of the Order or the military. Master Tyrand was the only one who seriously knew that we were here. We can safely assume that we have a couple of hours."

Rafe considered, then nodded in agreement. "So what's your plan?"

After a few seconds of consideration, Kyle appeared to reach a decision. "It'll take a couple of hours to get clearance to get off this planet. I've already started on that. We've got time to spare..." With a gesture so casual and natural that even Rafe didn't react to it until Kyle already had the Lightsabre out and was holding it with his thumb over the main activation switch. "Kata?"

Rafe sighed. He had nothing particularly against Kyle, aside from the one fact that the Corellian Jedi hadn't realised that he had the potential to be a Seeker before they had instilled the disciplines of a Guardian, the nearest thing that the Jedi had to a warrior caste, into him. Kyle found a peace in Lightsabre drills that Rafe had never shared, and despite the fact that the sight of a Lightsabre might bring bounty hunters down on top of them, he still wanted to practise. "Lightsabre junkie," Rafe muttered. "I think that we need to try and find out how many other Jedi survived. I mean _now_, before they go too deep into hiding."

Kyle hesitated before replying, his grip on the Lightsabre going slightly slack as if considering something unpleasant. "That means looking at the Now..."

"Yes it does," Rafe agreed, once again aware of the differences in their training; his own ability to see the Now had been trained from a young age, and he had accepted it gratefully. Kyle's had been discovered later on, and the training necessary to achieve the proper state of meditation had been taken somewhat reluctantly, despite his proficiency. "And what are the chances of Palpatine," Rafe continued, "or any Dark Jedi working for him, being able to see the Now, and therefore spot us looking around?"

Kyle sighed, and slipped the Lightsabre back into the concealed holster inside his jacket. "Slim, at best," he agreed. "All right, let's do it."


	3. Flashback 1

_Twenty One years before the instigation of Order 66_

_Aounam_

A sharp _bang_ drew the attention of the youngest member of the class back to the class's instructor. The cane that the instructor had been leaning on had fallen sharply onto the student's desk, causing the datapad and holocube on it to jump nearly as high as the student did.

"If you are now paying attention, youngling Belwynn?"

Rafe Belwynn nodded, embarrassed as much by being caught daydreaming as by the use of the term 'youngling'. At seven years old, he was still technically a youngling, and deserving of the appellation. But something about the way that Master d'Oreines said it left him feeling distinctly younger than those around him, rather than merely a few weeks younger than the next youngest.

It was a warm day, with Neatfar shining down through the open sky with a gentle radiance, when by rights they should have been outside, playing with the local children, or taking their lessons in the shade of one of the umbrella-like _sasseyyapha_ trees. Instead, their lesson had been moved indoors, to the mild disgust of most of the class. The room was on the wrong side of the temple, catching all of the sunlight, and without sufficient ventilation, leaving everyone feeling overheated and tried.

Master d'Oreines returned to striding around the classroom, and to the topic at hand, ignoring the heat. "Many of you, as you continue your training as Jedi, will find yourselves experiencing visions," he explained, a hand making expressive gestures in the air by way of emphasis. To Rafe, Master d'Oreines always appeared, in his fine robes and with his theatrical manner, more like an actor about to embark upon some famous soliloquy rather than a Jedi Master. "In many cases, these will be vague, glimpses of a future that may not come to pass, or of a past that might be long gone.

"To many of you, these visions will show hints, clues, and only by meditation upon them will you be able to fully appreciate what they may mean. Some of you will find that visions of the future come more easily to you, and will be chosen to join the ranks of the Seers. Some of the greatest of the Jedi have been Seers, chosen to guard the Order against that which has yet to come to pass, and to find the optimum path for both the Republic and the Order to follow to the perfect future."

A sneer touched Master d'Oreines lips as he paused. "Some of you, may find that visions of the future or past escape you altogether, and that your powers of observation focus on what such individuals call 'the Now'."

A part of Rafe stirred at this. He had read enough outside of his lessons to know a little about the Now, and the Seekers that pierced its depths, and to know that he was interested in learning more. That Master d'Oreines apparently had a dislike of the Seekers was only further incentive to learn about them.

"The Now is something that all Jedi can access however, only by the greater harmony achieved by a group effort. Seekers, those who are able to see into the Now on their own, do so in a haphazard manner, without the guidance and support that a group effort will provide. This capability also leaves them with a vital flaw; they are blind to all but the barest hints of the future."

A ripple of shocked ran around the classroom, as various students took in the enormity of what this would mean. For the Jedi, being able to get hints of the future was a normal thing, and many of them had already recounted visions that they claimed to have received whilst meditating. Mostly these had been singularly unhelpful, and in fact misinterpreting such a vision had led one student to quite neatly offending a padawan. But with time and experience they were assured that such things would become clearer, or at least would carry less of a potential for damage.

That Seekers might be blind to the future though left an empty feeling in Rafe's stomach, which he felt echoed across a number of other students around him. The idea of the Now had sounded so impressive when he had managed to read up on it, but if it meant being blind to the future...

"Pity not the blind man," a new voice declared, startling everyone. "For he has known a world that you will never find, though you should hunt through the heights of space and the depths of the stars."

Rafe smiled as he turned with the rest of the class to look at the intruder, his nose twitching excitedly at the spicy, woody scent that came in with him. Master Sirrin was popular with all of the students, both as a familiar figure when he was around, and as an enigma when he was not; often vanishing for months at a time, the Caamasi would suddenly reappear without any notice, bearing tales of the galaxy beyond the Serpent.

Master d'Oreines was one of the Masters who clearly had little patience with Master Sirrin, despite the legendary partiality that Caamasi tended to draw from anyone that they met. Even if he didn't need another reason not to get on well with Master d'Oreines, Rafe added this to his list.

"Master Sirrin..." Master d'Oreines gave a flourished bow, over-dramatic and insulting, but not in any way that someone could raise complaint about. "You have chosen to grace Aounam with your presence once more."

The Caamasi accepted the insult calmly as Rafe had known that he would; it took a lot of effort to ruffle a Caamasi's fur. "Master d'Oreines. My travels have once again brought me back to this world, and just in time it seems. I believe you were about to educate these younglings on a topic that I should be tutoring them on."

This got the attention of several of the students, especially Rafe. No one had been willing to admit what type of Jedi Master Sirrin actually was before now; there were plenty to choose from, ranging from the Guardians and Consulars that most people knew about, through the more secretive Sentinels, the prophetic Seers, the diplomats, the healers, and the scholars. But from what he said now, Master Sirrin was a Seeker, a part of the Order that other Jedi spoke about infrequently, despite Aounam supposedly being one of the most prominent training centres for them in the galaxy.

"The Now is, as Master d'Oreines has told you, a thing that all Jedi can see, with help. Seekers however, are able to pierce this stratum of the Force without the aid of others, though even we will not do so lightly." He stepped up to the front of the classroom, his manner calm and confident as ever. His simple robes seemed somehow honest beside the finer robes of Master d'Oreines, which had never looked right for a Jedi to Rafe's mind.

"The Now is more than a vision of the future, or a glimpse of what is happening at this moment that a Seer might provide. This is its danger; the Now is Totality. To look upon the Now is to see the galaxy spread before you, not merely as a holograph might appear to shimmer before your eyes, but as the Force feels, filling, overwhelming... Seekers approach such hazards with care, and other Jedi will tread carefully upon such grounds, even in groups.

"But in Totality lie the great things that a Seeker will witness. Many of your might not be here were it not for the Seekers, for that is our principle function within the Order; to find new Jedi, shortly after they are born. Each of you shines in the Now like a beacon, and it is our duty to find such as yourselves. Everything is visible to a Seeker, as it happens. And that is our curse, as well as our blessing, for while a Seer may receive a disturbing vision and attempt to thwart it, anything that a Seeker sees has already happened..."


	4. Chapter 2

_The Now_

Stars swirled around him, and for a moment, just an instant, Rafe was aware of his own physical body before his gaze. Then reality seemed to invert itself, and the universe took on a new focus.

Stars boiled around him as he spun in infinity, their radiance warming him as the depths of space sought to tear the heat from him. Entire worlds, their patterns and orbits laid out by the shifting of space as it bent and bowed under the weight of stars and planets, passed around, and beneath, and through him.

In an instant, he witnessed battles, as soldiers fought each other. He swooped over land that had dried out, seemingly beyond recovery, but which held within itself a hidden strength that was ready to burst forth. He saw people by the billions, each unique, distinct, and passing with a speed that defied perception.

In one timeless instant the entire galaxy was spread before him, and he revelled in the magnificent view that was afforded by the Force. He hung, disembodied and howled to the stars like the Dagger-wolves of the northern lands of Aounam, his cry of joy echoing across Totality.

Never had he entered the Now without this same feeling of exhilaration, and never had he lost the feeling of revelation, as if every time was the first that he had been here. Even the dire circumstances that surrounded this venture could not dim the sense of elation that overwhelmed him and drove him to pause, basking in the light of a billion stars, and a trillion lives.

After time immeasurable, he regained his senses, and gathered himself. Kyle, he knew, did not feel the same way when he entered the Now, and would no doubt have gone directly to their destination without pausing to take in the view. They had done this together often enough that there was no chance of them getting lost; the spark of Kyle's mind's eye was plainly visible, and Rafe allowed himself to flow towards it, hurling himself with almost reckless speed towards Coruscant.

Kyle waited, hovering immaterially over Coruscant as Rafe joined him, focusing his sense of the Now into that one spot, rather than taking in the whole of Totality. The entire world, not merely the side of it that they appeared to be above, was spread before them, and Rafe dived and swooped amongst the ships and buildings for a second, before focusing more closely on the place that Kyle waited.

"The Temple looks deserted," Kyle declared, his gaze clearly focusing down onto the Jedi Temple as it swam through the Now above them. Even from here, each layer of the Temple was visible, as solid as a wall, and yet as transparent as the air.

Throughout it, what Seekers knew as the Flow of the Force was visible, the ethereal lines and curves that defined the shape of space, and they way that the power of the Force moved through it. Throughout the Temple, this flow had always been strong, its hues and patterns shifting in response to the wellspring of energies that such a concentration of Jedi created.

Now that same Flow was still there, as it had always been, but burnt, twisted, and distorted. Jedi, Masters, scholars, Padawans and younglings had died here, tainting the Force and turning this place into one of pain.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, knowing that what he considered now would give even the strongest Masters pause for thought, and then touched the Flow around the Temple, just for a second.

One second was all he needed, as he felt the pain, and the deaths of those that had been within the Temple, and the pain of the few that had escaped.

"Only a few got away," Rafe declared after a moment to recover himself. His self-sense was bruised and battered from the brief contact, and he pulled himself tighter in as he waited.

"A few came back," remarked Kyle flowing down into the Flow around the Temple.

Rafe paused, then noticed what Kyle had seen; the pair of Jedi moving through the Temple, their senses masked carefully, but visible to the Now. Drawing himself even tighter, he followed Kyle, allowing the Force to move around him rather than touching it directly as he had done before.

They moved into the Temple, following the pathways and corridors out of habit more than anything. This was a familiar place to both of them; Rafe had visited it through the Now several times, and had been there physically once before. Kyle had actually trained there, for a while, before leaving once he became a full Seeker. The routes through its halls were easy to follow, at least as far as finding their way went. The bodies, left to rot where they had fallen, made the route harder, and the pair of them detoured around a number of the more gory sites, rather than walk over the remains of their fellows.

Their path meandered its way through to the central core of the Temple, the heart of its computer systems. Two figures, luminous in the light of the Force, were moving through this area as well. Rafe's experiences of Coruscant, and the various Masters that were based at the Temple there, was limited, but Kyle recognised the figures.

"Master Yoda. And Master Kenobi," he declared, indicating the figures in turn. One, Rafe now realised that he did actually recognise; the smaller figure of Master Yoda had visited the Temple on Aounam a number of years before, when Rafe had been starting to learn how to see the Now.

"I was starting to wonder who would be walking around a Jedi Temple at a time like this," Rafe replied, drawing himself further in as they paused there.

"Well, it's good to see that at least some of the Masters survived," Kyle commented, apparently heartened by this discovery.

"And it's a pity that we can't tell them that we're here," Rafe pointed out.

Kyle's spirit-self gave a metaphysical shrug, and turned away. "Maybe we'll be able to get in touch later. For now at least we know that there are other survivors."

"We knew that already," Rafe commented, his focus shifting upwards, as the stars blurred past them both once more. This time, they focused on a specific part of the Now, images forming before them of Jedi. But images that were fractured, broken, and twisted. Strong willed Jedi lay in ruins, images of madness, insanity, and despair assailed them from all sides.

Kyle was startled. "Hey, what's this?"

Rafe's experience in the Now told him easily what it was that they were seeing, though it did not help him to find it less upsetting. "More survivors... If you can call them that. They're not Seekers like us but they felt those deaths just as keenly as we did. Unlike us, they didn't know how to handle the shock. It's twisted them... They're not exactly falling to the Dark Side, they're just losing hope... Losing touch with reality..." He paused for a moment, allowing the parade of sorrow to flow before them. "We need to see the bigger picture..."

Once more the stars blurred around them as they ascended, their focus changing to encompass the entire galaxy. Laid out before them, lives went on, as the galaxy continued to turn despite the devastating blow that the Force had suffered. And now continued to suffer.

The Flow of the Force was visible as a glistening web, a tracery of lights and sounds and feelings and emotions and thoughts that shifted and progressed across the faces of the galaxy, entwined with each particle of dust, each soul, and each world. Always before it had been a thing of beauty, a thing to be marvelled at, as everything that touched, that influenced, that affected the Force left its mark upon creation.

Now a darkness was spreading. Like a cancer, or a plague, a shadow of darkness, deeper than either Seeker had seen before, was beginning to weave itself into the shape of the galaxy, twitching the threads and gossamer lines that held the galaxy together, making the universe dance to its tune.

"Well there it is," Rafe said, his sense of the Now leaving him with a distinct sense of what was going wrong.

"The entire galaxy, spread before us. And we're only able to watch while it falls," he concluded sourly.

"That's the new Sith Empire we're seeing spreading across it right now," Rafe declared, indicating the spreading darkness that insinuated itself into new worlds and peoples even as they watched. "Palpatine's influence insinuating itself across the whole of the galaxy..."

"Is there _anything_ we can do about this?" Kyle asked, the spirit-form of his Lightsabre shimmering into being beside him, the obvious course of action apparent in his thoughts.

"Not at the moment," Rafe informed him, ignoring the flare of disappointment from the spirit-form Lightsabre. "Sorting out something like this will take-" Abruptly, more abruptly than would have been possible for a physical body, he stopped, his senses alert and a tension rushing through him.

"I sense it too..." Kyle murmured as they both looked around themselves.

Something arose from the galaxy as it spun around them. At first it only showed in faint flickers and a shifting of hues in the web of lights, but it quickly acquired a life of its own, as its form coalesced out of the stars and planets, rushing towards them with the slow inevitability of a nightmare's shadow, always following, never being left behind, always gaining on you no matter how fast you moved. Flames, burning in infinity, danced and flickered, spreading and taking form as they shaped themselves, taking the form of an eye, wrought from fiery conflagration and staring into their souls across Totality.

And with it came a sound.

The sound of fire. But not the crackle and hiss of a friendly campfire; this was the roar of a fire, well banked, well fed, consuming all in its path, and howling into the night for more. It started softly, and yet while growing with the slow inevitability of an oncoming storm-front, it blotted all other sounds as if driving them almost from existence.

The heat of its gaze drove both of the Seekers back, their shock at this sudden invasion uncontained; never had they even considered that something could attack them within the Now, and yet this monstrous eye now blotted out the lights of the galaxy as it bore down on them.

From within the rushing, roaring, came a voice. It was deep, its force vibrating their souls as it pounded at them. Almost it became a pervasive presence, something that was felt and experienced rather than being heard.

_I see you_.

The words battered them, the cold certainty biting into their very being as it continued.

_I hear you. I have heard your voices in the darkness and I have watched as you have grown_.

Without willing it Rafe felt himself trying to slip away, to retreat from this danger. Yet something of the way that it spoke left him certain that nowhere was too far away, that nothing would ever hide him from the gaze of this malevolent eye.

_I have felt your longings and your desires, your pains and your joys. I have guided you, touched your lives in a million ways, and I am your destiny_.

A deep laugh cut at Rafe as the voice finished its proclamation, and as the laughter continued to roll around and across them, he sensed a single hole, a place where they might escape. Without thinking, without allowing terror to freeze him in place lest the Eye find this hole, Rafe hurled himself through it, barely managing to drag Kyle's spirit-self after him as they tumbled through the flames and the roaring, screaming stars...

* * *

_Yehgast – Outer Rim Territories_

Kyle collapsed backwards from where he had been sitting on the floor, trembling as he tried to force his muscles to relax. He wasn't sure of how long that had lasted; perception of time in the Now was a tricky thing, and Kyle had known entire afternoons to go by without him noticing while he was in the Now.

Never before though had he come out with sufficient tension in his body to make him quake like this. And never, even when he had been monitoring the inside of a volcanic eruption whilst several other Jedi evacuated the area around it, had he felt such heat as that; despite the heat and flames having been in the Now, and having only touched his spirit-self, his hair was singed, and blisters were forming where he had tried to hold off the raging inferno.

Across from him, Rafe was in a similar state, pulling himself slowly up to a sitting position again from where he had collapsed. His teeth were gritted against the pain he must have been feeling from the burns across his face and arms. Far more that that though, his eyes told of a concern for what had been able to do this to them.

"Sithspit, that was close," Kyle stammered, his muscles not yet entirely willing to respond and his speech mangled by it. "What was that?"

Rafe shook his head, wincing as he accidentally put to much pressure on a burn. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "It wasn't Palpatine, but... It was powerful in the Force. It could see the Now, just like we can. And it was aware of us," he finished with a trace of fear.

"Not just aware," Kyle muttered back.

"Yeah," Rafe agreed, managing to get upright properly. "It knows who we are. It knows what we can do. It knows _where_ we are."

Kyle considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "We need to know more than that."

Rafe turned on him, an aghast expression somehow overcoming the pain that had creased his face until then. "We do?" He paused to consider for a second. "Okay, if we want to find out more about this, we're going to need to do it the old fashioned way, because that thing, whatever it was, was finding us a lot faster than we were finding it. And I really don't want to be in the Now when it catches up with us."

"I don't think we have a choice about going after it," Kyle declared. "Did you feel... I don't know how, but I recognised it. It was almost familiar somehow." That had worried Kyle before; the feeling that this Eye knew him, as if it had been simply looking into his soul and picking bits out. It had felt almost like rape, as something had gone through his mind, dredging up memories at random and holding them up to the light. The most personal space a person should be able to have had been violated as it had picked at his thoughts, dreams, imaginings and anguishes. It had made what it had said all the more believable, knowing that it had been invading him, reading him... But it had gone both ways; there had been the feeling that he knew the Eye as well, as if some part of it was familiar to him.

"I had the same feeling," Rafe murmured as he sat there, his gaze drifting off into infinity for a moment. Then he seemed to gather himself, and sighed. "And we do need to find out what that was, because something that powerful is too dangerous to have around with everything else that's happened. But for now, our path is clear," he declared.

Kyle frowned, not certain at all what that could mean. "Really? So what exactly do we do 'now' then?"

"Now? Now, we run..."

* * *

_The Vagrant Soul_

_Orbiting Kapao – Outer Rim Territories_

"That was impressive," Sthynn admitted as he sat back in the chair that he had been directed to. He and the human female, who had introduced herself as Srah Heid, were seated in the captain's cabin of the Action VI. The lock on the captain's safe had proven to be no match for their combined skills, though Sthynn was aware that he had done most of the actual work.

The drinks cabinet hadn't proved any more difficult, and Srah had defeated it with almost casual insolence. She had pulled out various bottles and decanters from it, making comments about each in turn and finally settled for something from the second shelf.

"This isn't the first time that we've run off with someone else's ship," she admitted calmly, holding her glass up to the light and twisting it slightly so that the amber liquid within it cast shifting patterns of light through the elegantly cut glass. "Fact is we were planning on running off with a different one until this one showed up a couple of days ago."

Sthynn had indeed been amazed at how smoothly the entire operation had been carried out; he had seen shipjackers at work before, and most of the time they were clumsy brutes that ran in, shooting anyone that got in the way, before powering the ship up wrong and doing enough damage to it that whoever bought it off them would have to pay a massive fee to get it fully repaired.

Srah's team had done nothing of the sort. A distraction of their own had drawn away the security forces just before Sthynn's own distraction had sent the place into confusion. Seeing them getting onto the ship and overriding the security systems had been an education in itself, and the ease with which they had obtained clearance to leave had left Sthynn certain that there had been complex layer of this plan that he had not been privy to. It didn't surprise him that this plan had been in the works for more than a few days.

"May I ask where we are going now?" Sthynn asked after an appropriate pause.

"Hmm?" Srah glanced at him, then seemed to remember that he existed. She hadn't yet drunk any of the liquid in her glass, and Sthynn wondered if this was a normal way for her to behave on a job like this. "Oh. Yeah... We're heading for Jorrie. It's a little place, not far from here. I promised to have a ship available a couple of days ago, and since we're late, I figured that we'd stop off on Jorrie, which is on route, and pick up a second one to stop that damned Hutt from sticking a bounty on me."

"I see," Sthynn replied, his mind considering the list of Hutts that he knew of in the area. At the moment he wasn't in debt to any of them, but he decided quickly that he needed to find out something more before he actually met this particular one. "You have done this sort of thing a lot I take it?"

"Oh, we've been doing it for a while," she admitted. "The war made this sort of thing very profitable though, so we've been doing it more recently. Atraas pays well for ships at the best of times, but now that he can palm them off to either army, to the refugee convoys, or to smugglers, he's one very happy Hutt. And once the war ends, he'll still be happy because there are going to be a lot of people that want to get around, make the most of the chaos... That kind of thing." She paused, tilting the glass at a rakish angle and holding it there, admiring the way the light refracted through it.

Sthynn considered carefully, and decided that Atraas wasn't a name he had heard before. No doubt one of the smuggler lords that occasionally popped up. As long as he wasn't carrying a grudge on someone else's behalf, Sthynn was sure that it wouldn't be a problem.

"What about you?" Srah suddenly asked, her attention jumping back to Sthynn. "You joined up pretty sharpish when I gave you that offer... You do this sort of thing a lot?"

Sthynn shrugged. "I am not a hunter," he admitted. "To my people, that is an issue. My skill is with my hands, and mother taught me to use my hands productively. She was not a hunter either..." He paused for effect, his head tilted at a sorrowful angle, as if reliving unhappy memories. When he felt he had left it for long enough, he made a show of pulling himself together. "I have tried many jobs, before deciding that the way of a thief was my calling. I do not steal from those who cannot afford it though," he added.

"Same here," Srah agreed. "Though with ships it's more a case of just picking one that looks like it'll be worth the most. Thieves can target poor people as well as rich ones, but finding a ship doesn't give you much choice. Are you working with anyone right now?"

"No," he assured her. "And the few debts that I had were cleared over a month ago," he added, guessing that this would be her next question.

"That's what I like to hear about my team: beholden to no one!" she declared, raising her glass in a bold toast. "Except possibly me," she added as she lowered it again.

"Is that how a Wookiee comes to work with you?"

It was an innocent enough question, and not one that Sthynn expected to cause any offence. He had known only a couple of Wookiees in his time, one a slave, and the other bound by a life-debt to the person that had freed her from slavery. If a Wookiee was a slave you _never_ gave them weapons, but the Wookiee in Srah's team had carried a very powerful looking weapon. Sthynn had never heard of a Wookiee staying with someone voluntarily, and so he guessed that the Wookiee was under a life-debt.

He wasn't prepared for the look that was cast in his direction, nor for the unseen force that slammed into his chest, nearly knocking him and his chair over backwards. As it was, the breath was nearly knocked out of him, and his chair skidded back a few centimetres.

"Rhyydonning is definitely under the 'no one' category," she growled out, bringing the glass down on the table hard enough that the viscous liquid inside it nearly slopped over the side.

Sthynn quickly raised his hands, both in apology and to defend himself from another attack. "I am sorry," he said quickly. "My experience of Wookiees is... limited," he admitted.

She glared at him for another few seconds, and Sthynn felt as if she was trying to reach into his head, examining his thoughts, before she turned away. "Apology accepted. Don't assume things like that again," she added, jabbing a warning finger at him, before throwing the contents of the glass back in a single shot. "Never assume that sort of thing," she muttered darkly.

* * *

_The Stylite_

_Orbiting Tagheleph - Outer Rim Territories_

The command deck of the _Stylite_ was quiet at this hour, which suited lieutenant Tacha very well. The clones that manned the various positions around the deck were capable of course, and various markings distinguished their armoured uniforms, so it was next to impossible to get them wrong while they were on duty.

That had always unnerved Tacha though; out of uniform, aside from a few scars, the clones were impossible to tell apart. That had truly been brought home to him one day, six months earlier, when one of the clones in a group that he was working with had been forced to borrow armour from one of his comrades, and Tacha had operated with them for several hours before it had come out in passing that he had been talking to the wrong person. What had truly made the mistake a disaster was the fact that none of the clones had bothered to mention the change.

He had, from that point onwards, got around the problem by simply assuming, as many others did, that whatever clone he happened to be speaking to was the one that he was meant to be speaking to.

It was a trick that had worked so far; vastly superior though the clones were in many regards, Tacha took a kind of grim satisfaction in the manner that the clones meekly accepted this without complaint.

He wasn't, by nature, an evil person, for all that he worked aboard a warship and was now the acting liaison between the Inquisitor and the military side of the operation. But there was something about the clones, the sameness, the sense of calm superiority that they projected, even the unruffled way that they accepted any order given to them... It drove even the best of men to dark thoughts after a while, and even a saint would sooner or later feel tempted to give them a truly ridiculous order, just to see their reaction to it.

That they had so quickly turned on the Jedi when they were ordered to do so had also scared Tacha, presenting him one more reason to assert himself over them. He understood the reasons that had been given for the order, and the necessity of it, but that the clones had turned so easily was not something that he wished to contemplate. How easily could the Emperor now turn those same clones against anyone else that wished to oppose him?

Fortunately, if Inquisitor Srael was correct, there were going to be changes soon.

"Sir?" One of the clones approached Tacha with a deferent, slightly apologetic attitude. A couple of them had begun to be like that since more humans had begun to be brought in to supplement the cloned crews; they were smart enough to know that their days were numbered. The deference was added to by the fact that the clone was now in a deck uniform rather than armour.

"What is it, commander?" Tacha asked, his own deference to the clone's technically superior rank mitigated by his naturally-born status, and his connections to the Intelligence division.

"We have a signal coming in for the Inquisitor over the Holonet," the clone explained. "It carries a high priority signal from the Emperor's office."

"Well then, why have you not directed it to the Inquisitor himself then?" Tacha asked tetchily. Speaking to clones like this, especially at the end of a long shift, always had him on edge. Particularly, when they appeared to be being deliberately stupid.

"The Inquisitor left orders that none of the military personnel were to disturb him," the clone responded, his tone switching to being carefully neutral, rather than deferential. That was probably as near to an outright complaint about discrimination as the clones would get, and even then they could cover it up with concerns of military protocol and the proper chain of command.

Smiling privately as this minor victory against the unhuman clones, Tacha nodded. "Very well; I will inform the Inquisitor myself," he assured the clone.

That, he realised quickly, was going to be a bit more tricky than he had first considered it would be. The Inquisitor had, upon arriving aboard the _Stylite_, taken over an office with an adjoining cabin, as well as the office next to that. All three rooms had been deemed off-limits to anyone except the Inquisitor and, on a couple of occasions, those he called to see him.

Tacha made his way to the main office, then paused at the door. There was nothing to mark this door as particularly ominous, and yet Tacha, knowing perhaps more of the person who lived behind it than others did, found himself unwilling to even try to obtain entry.

Steeling himself against the possible storm that he might provoke, he reached out and touched the control next to the door. For a moment nothing happened, then the door slid open without any warning.

Tacha restrained himself from jumping in shock, admirably he thought, and stepped through the doorway. Beyond the door was not what he had expected.

The office was laid out as a standard arrangement for a warship like the _Stylite_; a desk dominated one side of the room, with various datapads, datacards, and a single picture frame on it. Standard issue communications equipment was present, with the only real oddity being the holopad in place of the normal holoscreen. Towards the back of the office, was the doorway leading to the cabin space attached to it.

The entire right hand wall though, had been covered. Where before it had borne the Republic seal and a few holographs that the last occupant had felt it necessary to display, it was now firmly encased by hard and industrial looking shelves, and upon these shelves were rows of books.

"I think that I need to do something about these quarters."

Tacha turned sharply, taken off guard as much by the comment as by its coming from an unexpected angle. Inquisitor Srael was standing by the near right corner of the room, his attention seemingly focused on the book in his hand.

"Sir?"

"These quarters," Srael said vaguely, gesturing around himself as he did. "They would do for a captain, or a commander, but... Not wishing to sound self-important, an Inquisitor has different needs from his quarters."

Tacha paused for a second, wondering how this conversation had started so suddenly, before nodding in a confused agreement. "I can, uh, speak to the captain about having your effects moved to a different room."

"Yes, that would be good," Srael replied, still seemingly only peripherally aware of Tacha's presence. "I'll pass some specifications to him in the near future..." He continued to read for a few more seconds, then snapped the book shut abruptly and looking up at Tacha. "Do you read much lieutenant?"

"Not especially sir," Tacha replied, once again confused by the choice of topic.

"You should try it," Srael suggested. "I never got the chance, growing up, to read that much. Basic education, yes, and a few works on tactics and strategy... But I never used to read, just for the sake of reading..." He gestured idly at the shelves. "This lot are probably nothing special," he admitted. "I have no first editions, no signed masterpieces of great authors. But even such lesser versions as these are a marvel to me."

"Um, sir," Tacha interrupted, aware that time was slipping away, "you have a call waiting from Coruscant. It's carrying a high priority flag."

Srael nodded, and turned to the holopad. He gestured at the table, and several of the controls adjusted themselves, causing Tacha to start. He had considered himself sufficiently used to the Inquisitor's capabilities that he shouldn't be surprised by seeing them being used like that.

The holopad flickered into life, revealing a robed form, unnaturally tall for a human, and with the face concealed within the shadows of the robe. Bizarrely, the figure seemed to hover in mid-air, rather than actually standing on the pad as would be expected of such a hologram.

To Tacha's surprise, Srael was not surprised by the peculiar nature of the hologram's appearance, but rather by its presence at all. "Prophet Havaan... I was informed that this signal was coming from Coruscant, rather than from Bosthirda."

"_This signal is being sent from Coruscant_," the figure on the other end of the communication replied. "_I am here on business, assisting our Master_."

Tacha shivered at the sound of that voice. There was a cold, mechanical edge to it that seemed at odds with even the most alien species that Tacha had met. Even the most bizarre ones that he had heard of had possessed some shred or nuance that had allowed empathy. This voice though betrayed none of that.

"I see," Srael said slowly, as if the information was of some great import. He did not appear disquieted by the voice, or its lack of tone or accent. "I presume that you are communicating with me on business as well."

"_Of course. Visions have been received of a new danger in the area that you are searching_."

"I know that there are a number of Jedi in this area that have thus far eluded my forces-"

"_We are aware of these as well_," the holographic Prophet interrupted. "_This danger concerns some of them, but it does not come from them_."

Srael's expression, previously neutral, or displaying mild interest, turned sour. "I have little time for hints and riddles," he declared through gritted teeth. "The Prophets were intended to supply the rest of us with usable information. Whilst some information has been forthcoming, I have had little of practical value thus far. Your kind tries my patience."

The holographic figure shimmered, and the robe shifted as if the figure was restraining itself. "_Inquisitor... Our services to your kind are a courtesy. Are you interested in the information that I am able to provide, or not_?"

Srael paused, then nodded sharply. "Provide what you will..."

"_The danger is an eye. We cannot divine the significance of that symbology, beyond that it sees, and it burns. It sees all, yet touches nothing. Do not meet its gaze, for you may never be free of its power. Yet we see that you will do this, despite our warnings. We see others whose fate is entwined with that of the eye: two we see only the shadow of; their shape in the future is almost as blurred as your own is. One of these may know you, or you may know, though we are uncertain. A third, we see more clearly; she will see you before you are aware of her, and the pain that she bears will save her as it has before. Others follow in her wake. The fourth is damaged, twisted. Though he should be their ally, we know that he will seek to hinder the others. The fifth is a shadow, a blank space – where he should be we see only a hole, or metal, or the eye. Of the sixth we see a past with the Jedi, a hunter who will aid you and who you will betray when it benefits you most_.

"_We see other things as well; the eye turns its gaze towards a place, and that place shall burn; the snake will guard against you when you follow, and you should not seek to pass; the broken staff of gears that has lost its cap piece is where they will meet; a voice of metal that shall guide you when all others fail... These are what we know, these are what we suspect_."

"Very mystic," Srael replied, crossing his arms. "I will of course try to keep it in mind, and shall hope that it provides me with answers before, rather than after, the event."

"_You would do well to do so_," figure replied icily. "_That we see any future at all around such a Shatterpoint as yourself is almost miraculous, and many of our visions are divined from those around you. You should know however that our next vision places you on a world not far away; the air is warm and dry, though plants grow nearby. A ringed city is seen. Hills and mountains surround this city, lit by a sun of intensity. A crescent moon hangs over it_."

"That's more the sort of thing that I wanted to hear," Srael declared, with a hint of satisfaction. "I'll try to be there in time to accommodate your visions."

"_We did not see you_," the figure corrected him, a hint of a subtle threat now entering the voice. "_We never see you_," it added with a hiss as the channel went dead.

"Charming individual," Srael commented sarcastically. "Well, since we seem to be finished on Tagheleph, we may as well set our course for our predicted destination. After all, we don't want to make the Prophets unhappy by disrupting their visions."

"Sir, if I may ask?"

"Who are the Prophets?" Srael replied. Tacha nodded, and Srael smiled. "Our Emperor, over the last half-year, has been planning for the change that is taking place. Political manipulations and a talent for seeing the future through the Force makes him a more dangerous opponent than the Jedi might ever have suspected another Force user to be. Though I suspect that his dual identity as the head of the Separatists as well as the Chancellor of the Republic means he was backing both sides in the war, the Republic was able to prevail, and thus his plans for it were able to go ahead appropriately.

"The Inquisitorius has been in training for that half-year. My own training began nearly a year before that, and I suspect that whichever side had won, I would have been called upon to serve. The Prophets of the Dark Side though... Some of us trained as Inquisitors, and some, with a knack for sneaking and seeing the future, or a chronic inability to operate in public view, trained as Prophets. They are intended to sift the future, to find the gaps and loops, the places where people will move against us, and the places where we can best move against them. As you've just heard, their own opinion of their information is higher than that of most other people. Then again, that last bit might actually prove useful..."

"It will sir?" Tacha frowned. "The description was... Vague, to say the least."

"Only because this was the first time that you've heard one of them talking," Srael replied. "Check the local records. The planet that we're looking for has arid regions with walled cities. These arid regions also include mountain ranges nearby. The star it orbits is brighter than that of Coruscant, but not sufficiently to prevent habitation. And it has at least one moon that is visible during the day, although the way that these visions go it might just have been at night. Regardless of that, it has at least one moon."

Tacha nodded slowly. "I'll get on that right away sir," he declared. "If that's all?"

"Of course lieutenant," Srael replied. "Weren't you listening to the hovering Prophet? We have a meeting with a destiny..."

* * *

_4 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Jorrie – Outer Rim Territories_

Kyle Reeves moved through the crowded streets with the ease of an experienced spacer, rather than the grace of a Jedi. Growing up, it had been easy to get used to moving in either way depending on the circumstances he found himself in; the temple on Coruscant had required him to move with a certain style and gracefulness that would have stood out a kilometre on Corellia, or on Jorrie.

Jorrie was a quiet world, mostly covered by a series of humid jungles and misty swamps. Towards the polar regions it tended to turn into tundra and ice, but even there the dampness pervaded the environment and Kyle suspected that something about the planet was trying to drown them slowly.

The few cities that had sprung up in response to the demand for some of the exotic foodstuff that were grown here were ringed by a half-dome – a curved wall that kept out the encroaching plant life, but was open at the top to allow sunlight and natural weather in. This naturally limited the cities' ability to grow, and so faced with the choice of restricting population levels, building new cities, or extending the current ones by degrees, the government had responded with the time honoured method used by sentients all over the galaxy; they built smaller living spaces for people to occupy, and increased the number of security officers to handle the increased unrest that was a natural effect of people being compressed in such a manner.

The style of the buildings was peculiar, and Kyle found himself disliking it. Rather than a single style of art across all of the structures, the style could shift within a single building; the first settlers had built themselves grand homes to live in, rich from the proceeds of the export of new foods. As the population had increased, more structures had been added, allowing less personal space, and less chance to express an artistic style. More recently, the structures had become almost entirely prefabricated, utilitarian, and very bland. Parts of some buildings, once homes to wealthy owners and now deemed impractical, had been demolished and new structures put up on them. To one attuned to the Force, the steady degeneration was even more obvious, and much more painful.

Kyle and Rafe had arrived in the early hours of the morning, and cleared the customs checks in a matter of minutes; Kyle's status, and part-time cover, as a trader ensured that he was known and the contents of the _Long Shot_'s hold was passed almost without a second glance. Neither of them had slept much as such on the eight hour journey from Yehgast; Kyle had dozed in the pilot's seat, lulled by the idle twittering of the ship's astromech droids and the hum of the ship's systems. Rafe had remained in his cabin, dropping himself into a healing trance almost immediately, and then catching up on some reading after the burns had healed.

They hadn't spoken much on the flight, or once they had set down. Neither had felt the need, or desire, to speak to the other about what had happened. Rafe had remained reading, and Kyle had gone walking to clear his head.

That had been the idea at least. The sense of decay and degeneration around this place was leaving an even more bitter taste in his mouth than he had expected; previously the spacer air had reminded him of his parent's home, on the days when Master Zane had brought him back there. Now, with the apparent death of the Order, not to mention the emotional battering that he had taken from the Eye, he found no joy here.

Instead, he found a place where he was forced to confront his future; something that he rarely considered as a Seeker. Continuing openly as a Jedi was an unlikely prospect; already Kyle had encountered two news bulletins from local gangs offering bounties on Jedi, and he had been catching occasional comments from various people's conversations that had appeared disparaging of the Jedi.

_A few years ago these people would have been glad to find a Jedi in their midst_, Kyle thought to himself. _What went wrong_?

That at least was easy to answer; the Separatist build-up of forces had left the Jedi obviously inadequate to handle the task. Once the clones had been brought in, they had become the popular figures of the war, eclipsing the Jedi even when it was a Lightsabre that led the charge against the droid armies.

The declaration of an assassination attempt against Palpatine was the part that had confused Kyle to start with. Palpatine had not stood to gain anything from it, except to potentially alienate the Jedi and a large part of the Republic against him. Now it was clear that the assassination attempt may well have been for real; a Sith Lord with that much political weight behind him would have never been brought before a fair trial, and it was likely that any group of Jedi sent to deal with him would have been forced to resort to violence, which would have led to an attempt on his life.

It was a neat little package, and it did not appeal to Kyle to think about it.

"You are looking for business?" enquired an elderly Twi'lek. "You have the look of one who is in need of work..."

Kyle stopped and nodded. "I've got a job already. Two in fact," he added as an aside. "Why? Are you looking for some help?"

"Ah, it is a problem," the Twi'lek replied. "A man has contacted me, asking for help in getting some cargo moved. Normally, I would be happy to assist. Two problems; I have no ship available where he wishes to go, and there is no ship willing to carry his cargo."

"And you think that I could help?" Kyle asked, frowning.

"You come from the spaceport when only a private freighter has arrived. YT-2400. Corellian design, and by your accent you are Corellian as well... Such a ship is not one for carrying passengers, unless they have no choice. And you appear to have choices that you could make. So, you are captain, or crew."

"A mind like that could get you into trouble," Kyle said, raising a warning finger as a smile formed on his lips. "Yeah, I'm the captain. What's this cargo, and where's it heading?"

"I know that it is a crate, of one cubic metre in size. I do not know the contents, though it is clearly stated that it will be heavy. To where it must go... Apparently Naboo is its destination, there to be handed to someone who will await it."

"That's a bit vague," Kyle pointed out. "And a bit out of my way at the moment. If I have plans to head that way, I'll let you know. But I'm afraid I'm going to be staying a bit more local than Naboo for a while."

"Ah, a pity indeed," the Twi'lek declared in a melodramatic tone. "Perhaps you will find it in your heart to direct some other traveller my way then? My price is good, and I fear that some other trader may claim this prize if I am not able to do so soon."

"If I see anyone heading that way, I'll let them know," Kyle assured him.

* * *

"This is looking good so far," Srah declared as she stepped down the _Vagrant Soul_'s boarding ramp and stretched. They had set down in the middle of the morning, which was roughly synchronous with the late evening on Yehgast, and Srah had heard Sthynn cursing about the time difference between major cities on different worlds. The Rodian was clearly used to moving at his own pace, and getting acclimatised to a new world before acting, rather than looking for a target as soon as he got there.

Srah had no trouble with that idea though. Snatching sleep when you could get it, and surviving on stim-tabs and coffee when you couldn't, were a habit that you got into in the shipjacking business, if you wanted to get anywhere with it.

Jorrie wasn't quite what she had hoped for. The trade documentation listed a good industry, but failed to mention that most of the cargo traffic was handled by bulk freighters rather than the smaller sort. Her newly acquired _Vagrant Soul_, coming in at a hundred and twenty five metres long, was small compared to some of the orbital traffic that was floating around. Ground-to-orbit transfers were handled by light freights with no hyperdrive, definitely not something that she could run off with easily. On the other hand, the bulk ships in orbit never actually docked anywhere as such, instead holding orbit long enough to pick up their cargo before vanishing off into the stars again.

"It is a common problem with places like this," G2C-2KW declared, taking in the nearby ships. "The domed, or partially domed cities, do not allow for the landing of large cargo ships."

"I know that, Gates," Srah said with a sigh. Her pilot droid, as was the case with many droids that didn't have a memory wipe, had begun to get quite an opinion of himself recently, and frequently showed it by reminding you of things that you'd originally taught him. "You never know with a place like this though..."

"As you say," Gates murmured, his single photoreceptor swinging around to take in what was visible of the spaceport from their berth.

"Tetee!" Srah called into the ship, wondering how long it would take to get a response. Part of the reason that they had been delayed on Kapao was the length of time it had taken Tetee to get moving...

A Mon-Calamari, her originally royal-blue skin marked with blotches an unhealthy shade of green, came slowly out of the ship, looking around with a dreamy air that suggested she wasn't entirely with them. Sthynn came out after her, his jacket how showing its black side rather than the more opulent red side.

"Tetee, we need to find out if there's a ship here that would be a good target," Srah said carefully, speaking slowly and making sure that the Mon-Calamari was actually listening properly. "You got that? Anyone that's here right now, or might be arriving in the next day or so."

"I understand," Tetee replied, her large, dreamy, eyes blinking in time with the lights on the borg implant that was strapped to the back of her head. "I will go swimming," she added, starting to drift off in one direction before Srah grabbed her and directed her the other way.

"Gates, go with her," she instructed the droid, who nodded sharply, and began steering the meandering slicer towards an inconspicuous computer terminal. "So," Srah said, turning to Sthynn, "you ready to do your stuff?"

"That would depend on what 'my stuff' is right now," Sthynn said tiredly. "What will you want me to do?"

"Could be anything," Srah admitted. "Once we find a ship to take we're going to need to move quickly, so we could need a distraction, or we might need to get hold of a keycard... Just be ready to move."

Sthynn looked at her blearily, then nodded. "I will go and consume much coffee," the Rodian declared, staggering back towards the ship.

[Was bringing him a wise idea?] Rhyydonning asked, stepping up beside her.

"Sure, why not?"

[He might get hurt,] the Wookiee pointed out, slinging the heavy rail-rifle over his shoulder by its strap.

Srah glanced up at the Wookiee sharply, but he was already looking away, the comment apparently having been made in passing, for form's sake. Looking away, Srah bit back a moment of concern. "You're right, maybe we ought to leave him out of this for now..."

She could feel Rhyydonning's gaze on the back of her neck as the Wookiee tried to puzzle out her change in attitude. Before the Wookiee could enquire though, Gates came back to them.

"That went quicker than I had expected," the droid admitted. "And we appear to be in luck; a YT-2400 docked here a few hours ago. Corellian civilian registration, two crew. It's about a hundred metres away, and both of the crew appear to be away at the moment."

"Ideal pickings then. Is Tetee getting us clearance to move it?"

"She keeps talking about 'swimming pretty'," Gates replied, robotic annoyance oozing from his vocoder. "I presume this is a good thing..."

"Could well be," Srah replied noncommittally. "Okay, Rhyydonning, Gates, you pair are with me. We'll leave the new guy here for now," she added. "Simple operation; we get in, I'll pilot, Gates, you'll come back here and fly the _Vagrant Soul_. We get out, head for Atraas, and with a bit of luck we can pick up a reward for our hard work rather than a bounty for being late. Any questions?"

"It seems too simple," Gates replied. "But these things often do..." The droid pulled both of the holstered blasters from the magnetic plates on his hips, disabled the safeties, and spun them around his fingers before slapping them back into place. "We should go soon."

* * *

The local guides stated that although there were no dangerous animals out in the jungles surrounding the city, it was not advised that people strayed beyond the city limits without either a trained guide, or an armed escort.

That contrary piece of advice in mind, Rafe had slipped over the wall as inconspicuously as possible, and begun moving off into the jungle as effectively as he could.

He kept his Lightsabre inside his jacket rather than in hand. To some people this might have seemed contrary; even a couple of minutes from the edge of the city he began to pick up the faint sounds of animals moving around, and he had spotted some quite large ones through the Force almost immediately. Most didn't appear to be hostile, but a couple slunk around, their intent obvious, and their action only delayed by the strange nature of their target.

A nervous chirping/ cackling noise accompanied Rafe as he moved through the jungle, and it was also this, he knew, that concerned the possible predators that lurked around him. The small monkey-like creature that rode on his back, occasionally clambering onto one shoulder for a better look around, sticking its fox-face into the air and sniffing, before clambering back down to the relative safety of the small of Rafe's back.

Muttamoks were common on Aounam, a world with more than its fair share of creatures that could touch the Force. Their connection to the Force was limited, as it tended to be for any animal. Most only knew how to touch the Force in one or two ways; Dagger-wolves hunted using the Now, Marsh Haunts used the Force to conceal themselves and induce fear in their targets, Thernbees used the Force to empathise with people and to project emotions back to them, and Muttamoks used the Force to make people like them.

It was a trick that had made them a revered animal on some worlds, believed to be lucky to have around. There wasn't actually anything to the idea of them being lucky, unlike for instance the Ixes, a species that normally dwelt in small swamps and used the Force to bend fate and chance in their favour, and in favour of those who helped them. Muttamoks just made friends easily; they needed to when they were like magpies for picking up shiny things that caught their eye.

Rees had been adopted by Rafe after the infant Muttamok had managed to infiltrate the camp made by several Padawans after his parents had been picked off by Dagger-wolves. Growing up in the temple had appealed to the creature, and his knack for using the Force to his advantage had grown beyond even what most Muttamoks were able to achieve, even to the point where those in the kitchens had demanded that Rafe train the little animal to leave them alone, lest he eat the temple's stores ahead of _anyone_'s schedule.

Now Rees rode as Rafe made his way through the jungle.

Jungles, like forests, were each different. Certainly there were general classifications that a tenderfoot might make that would allow them to mistake one jungle for another. But even Rafe's limited experience of jungles, filtered as it was through his experiences of the grasslands and mountain ranges of Aounam, was enough to tell the differences.

This one was very damp, the merely swampy region extending almost to the city wall and getting gradually damper as he penetrated further and further into the jungle. Some peculiar combination of subterranean heating and the local weather patterns contrived to heat the water and make it steam in places, yet cooled it almost instantly so that rather than being warm and humid the jungle was fill with damp and clammy mist at this time of the day.

The trees were thick trunked and a dark green, with red patches running along them. The leaves were three pronged affairs, larger than a spade and shifting gently even in still air. Some kind of fruit, or flowers, red and frilly things large enough for Rees to hide in, hung down from the lower branches, their sickly sweet scent creating a nauseating smell in the dark and still air under some of the trees. Rafe quickly decided to avoid these areas when he found the bones of some local bird beneath one set of flowers.

Moving through one clearing, Rafe paused to consider his surroundings. The tourist guides didn't mention anything about this area, and the records that he had access to were dated from before the planet's magnetic field had undergone some significant shifts recently. All of the local information used an updated reference system, and no one seemed to have considered it necessary to work out some kind of standard conversion system.

As a result, Rafe's directions were scribbled hastily into the graphical memory of a datapad, overlaying a local map that he had been able to copy. They were approximations at best, with a number of crossings out and several efforts at triangulation that, now he was out here, appeared hopelessly inaccurate compared to the topography his map.

"Okay..." he muttered to himself as Rees scrambled up onto his shoulder to see why they had stopped. "Master Yintar was here, and said that the peak of the mountain designated NK-3 was _just_ hidden by an outcropping..." He looked around, and sighed. "Only the outcropping has been mined since then and doesn't exist any more," he grumbled. "You know, I get the impression that someone doesn't want us to get to this place Rees." He shook his head in annoyance. "This would be a lot easier if I could use the Now..."

Rees, for his part, chattered quietly to himself for a moment as Rafe continued working, then hissed abruptly at the trees.

Immediately, Rafe was alert, spinning around to focus on what Rees had spotted already: some form of vornskr shaped creature had tried to sneak up on them, its dark red hide and fur blending into the shadowy spaces amongst the branches. Even as Rafe focused on it, it leapt down into the clearing, a long tail swishing gently back and forth, the rippled fur making a subtly shifting humming that seemed to fill the air, which was counter-pointed by the growling from the creature's throat. Eyes that were a shade of purple met Rafe's gaze, never actually leaving it, yet managing to flicker back and forth in case anything tried to sneak up on it.

"Tuneful thing, aren't you," Rafe commented idly as he hunkered down, getting onto all fours. Rees, who had seen this part before, scrambled down Rafe's back once more, peering along the length of his spine past his head and trying to match the motion of the creature's tail with his own.

The creature paused, as if unused to this behaviour from what it considered to be prey. Rafe sensed confusion coming from it, along with a growing determination. As the growl shifted, becoming more threatening, Rafe uttered a growl of his own.

The creature paused, clearly not used to such a response. Its growl faltered, then returned, with an inquisitive edge to it.

Rafe's growl shifted as well; his initial effort had been better suited for a normal vornskr than the creature in front of him. His jaw quickly began to ache as he tried to shift his accent to match that of the new language, the low growl he was giving off shifting its tone and shape as he tried to find the right point.

It was a slow process, though the creature seemed to be willing to play along with it, shifting its own growling and cackling to fit around Rafe's own efforts. More than once, it looked like he might have actually slipped up and the creature nearly pounced. And on one occasion, he nearly managed to convince it to leave, when he thought he was trying to convince it to open up. Eventually, communion of a sort was achieved.

"Leave. My Place!" the creature growled.

"We'll leave," Rafe replied, keeping his stance low and ready. "There is place we go. Building. Ruin."

The creature sidestepped hastily, a nervous gesture, as it cast a rapid glance off into the jungle. "Not go there. Bad Place!"

"Must go there," Rafe objected. "Why bad place?"

"Sky-lights-in-lines from stones. Dreams. Voices. Bad place," the creature finished. "Not go there."

"Must go there," Rafe repeated. "You show way."

"No!" came the sharp reply which set Rees quivering. "Not Go There!"

"Not show then. Tell way," Rafe suggested, reaching out with the Force and gently touching the creature's mind. If most Jedi tried this sort of trick, it tended to backfire on them, making the creature even angrier. Rafe's advantage in this regard was significant though.

The creature seemed to consider, then looked sharply into the jungle. "That way. In hole in hills," it added reluctantly. "Bad place."

"Will remember," Rafe assured it, moving slowly off in the direction that it had indicated. For a moment it appeared that the creature would slink after him, and then it turned, seeming to dismiss someone who had so little regard for their life.

The 'hole in the hills' turned out to be more than just a hole; a massive crater, from some explosion or impact, had carved a chunk out of the hillside millennia ago, and a structure built in that crater was only just beginning to lose its battle to hold the crater's shape against the elements.

The ruins were a mess, but the form of the original structure was still visible; this had once been a temple of some kind, the style dating back to before the Sith War and Exar Kun. Damage from more than just age had undone it however; blaster damage and the blows of Lightsabres were visible across the stone walls and floors. Various types of plants had colonised parts of the building, though all of them appeared somehow... Twisted. Not entirely in a bad way it had to be said. But there was clearly such great power in this place that nothing went untouched by it.

There were no animals.

Rafe could sense the power flowing through the ruins, through the air, and through the ground around them. This was a place of knowledge.

There are places of power in the Force. Some of these are strong in the Light; they promote healing, order, and peace. Over some the Dark Side casts its shadow, seeking to draw in and consume all around it.

Some of these places are stronger in the flow of wisdom, such that even a Sith Lord will bring reasonable counsel from them. Some bear scars and halos from the acts that have been committed in them, and for millennia afterwards their ghosts can live out these memories.

Others though, are powerful in the flow of understanding, of knowledge. These places, known as Oracles, are the homes of Seers, who plumb their depths to seek visions of great events, both past and as yet undone.

Seekers, with their almost unique connection to the Force, had a use for Oracles that baffled other Jedi; it was their gift to summons spectres and spirits to these places, to seek not only the guidance of the Force, but the voices of those who served it as well.

Settling himself into a meditative pose, Rafe concentrated, reaching out with the Force into the depths of the fountain that hung invisibly in the air before and around and above him. It flung itself into the air, stretching out across the universe even as it drew the universe back through itself.

It was a wonder to behold, and one that Rafe knew better than to touch directly; Oracles such as this were places of the future and the past, and for a Seeker, that meant madness.

Instead he focused himself onto the voices that flowed through it, trying to find one that was bound most strongly to this place. He had only done this occasionally before, and then only on at the Oracle on Aounam, where they knew that the spirits of Jedi or Daneyee could be found. This place had been abandoned for so long, had been subject to darkness as often as light, that it was hard to find someone who might be helpful to him.

Eventually, one voice began to stand out above the others, a voice that became stronger as Rafe focused on it, until Rafe was able to open his eyes and find the spirit standing in front of him.

"Rafe Belwynn," the figure said. His voice was strong, and confident, his face young. His spirit-form wore dark robes marked with arcane symbols; the origins of both, Rafe recognised as being in the style worn by the ancient Sith, predating Exar Kun even. The dark colour of his robes was almost entirely transparent, but what was visible of him was tinted red. He was handsome enough, in a slightly cruel way, and the lines in his face suggested an expression of superior concentration, as one might expect from someone used to organising things without having to worry about what people thought of them.

"You know who I am," Rafe commented, coming to his feet. Rees, who had been snoozing on his shoulder, woke, and hissed at the spirit. The spirit smiled, not very reassuringly, at Rees, then responded to Rafe's statement.

"How could I not?"

"But who are you?" Rafe asked, raising a hand to scratch Rees behind the ears as reassuringly as he could.

The dark side spirit made a dramatic bow. "My name is Teract."

"Teract..." Rafe chuckled to himself. "You have got to be kidding me... You know, I always assumed that the whole theory about the Sith Rejects was just a joke someone came up with... You people keep insisting on proving me wrong."

Teract's expression turned stormy. "Do not mock me, Jedi. I called you to this place for a reason."

"You called me?" Rafe asked, a certain amount of surprise in his voice.

"That is the nature of this place," Teract explained, gesturing at their surroundings. "Knowledge flows through it, and though my influence beyond this well of visions and dreamings is limited, I find that some are more sensitive to the flows of the Force than others. To some I merely appear as the whisper of a vagrant thought, to others as a minor epiphany. To you..."

"I'm a Seeker," Rafe informed him. "Our connection to the Force has always been an odd one compared to other Force users."

"This I know better than you realise," Teract replied. "We are alike after all."

Rafe blinked in surprise. "Hang on... You're a Seeker as well?" That was news to him. The Seekers had been an established part of the Jedi Order for as long as the Order could remember. Perhaps some people might not have been as keen on them being a part of it, but they had always been an aspect of the Jedi Order. That the Sith might have possessed Seekers of their own might have explained a few things however.

"The ancient Sith referred to our kind as 'Oahn-sarth': those who see clearly," Teract explained. "The Order that succeeded them when their race died out, the Order which has now destroyed yours and the Republic you served, know our kind as Hunters."

"I prefer 'Seeker'," Rafe replied.

Teract shrugged dismissively. "The meaning is the same."

"Actually there's a rather distinct difference of intent," Rafe replied, taking a step to one side. "You know, like the difference between me being here to find information, and you trying to stop me."

"I do not seek to stop you," Teract corrected him. "Rather my interest is in ensuring that you understand my position here."

"And why would I need to understand that?" Rafe asked.

"It is within my power to withhold this place from you," Teract said warningly. "I know what it is you seek... I know how truly dangerous it could be... And I will ensure that you do not find anything useful from this place, unless you meet my demand."

Rafe shook his head. "I've met enough Dark Jedi of various kinds to know not to make deals with them. I'll find out some other way."

As Rafe turned to leave, Teract's expression turned sour. The dark side spirit raised his hand, the palm flat, as if he was about to place it on a table-top. Even before the gesture was completed, the Force bent to his will, the shape of its flow through the Oracle twisting around the stones that remained in place.

Rafe barely restrained a cry as lightning blazed from the stone around him, assaulting him from every side. Rees managed to hurl himself upwards, unaffected by the pyrotechnics that assaulted his owner, who stumbled forwards a couple of steps through the storm, before falling to his knees, his hands landing hard on the stonework.

The storm abated somewhat, as Teract lowered his hand, seeing that Rafe was no longer trying to leave. Rafe, no longer incapacitated by the assault despite the steam rising from his body and the fresh burn marks across his skin, managed to twist himself around, raising a hand towards Teract.

Light, pure and white, filled the ruined chamber, spilling from Rafe's form. A sound filled the air; a single note, clear and precise, carrying a purity with it that was marred only slightly by the pained cry from Teract as his spirit-form shimmered, his robes flying as if caught in some terrible gale.

Rafe lowered his hand, and the light dimmed, fading, but leaving behind a brightness that faded more slowly as the natural shadows reasserted themselves.

Teract's spirit-form recovered itself, and he wiped the back of hand across his mouth, smiling through gritted teeth at the blood that ended up on it. "You were indeed the right one to call."

Rafe glowered at him, picking himself up and trying not to choke on the stench of ozone that pervaded the area. "Some people would have just asked me not to leave," he commented.

"Some people would not talk after such an attack," Teract replied. "But I know now that I was indeed right to call you, for you have something that could be of great use to me."

Rafe shook his head sharply. "I told you, I don't make deals with Dark-Siders."

"Then do not, Jedi. I offer you the information which you seek, and I ask only one simple service in return. One which you should be able to fulfil willingly..."

Sighing, Rafe looked around. The flow of the Force through this place was much more apparent now, and it was clear that Teract was quite thoroughly fused with the Oracle itself, granting him a degree of control over his surroundings. If he wanted to stop Rafe from leaving, it was most certainly within his power to do so. "I promise nothing," Rafe warned him. "Tell me what I need to know, and I will _consider_ your request."

"It will have to suffice," Teract muttered, clearly not entirely happy with the situation, but realising that it wasn't going to get any better soon. "You seek information about the Eye. The Eye that sees all, that roves the Now and pierces the Then and the Soon-To-Be... You wish to understand that which attacked you in a place where you should be beyond harm."

"You're doing well so far," Rafe commented. "Though I was hoping for something that I didn't already know or suspect."

"I will show you what you wish Jedi... But you will do one thing. More you will not know until I have your assurance to carry through on my request."

"And I'll need to know what it is you're asking before I even consider it," Rafe pointed out.

"Free me."

Rafe cast an incredulous look in the spirit's direction. "Pardon?"

"You heard what I said. Free me. You know my name," Teract pointed out. "Use it. Cast my spirit from this place, and sever the bonds holding me to this realm," he commanded, his tone becoming imperious.

"You'll forgive me but..." Rafe paused, still sceptical. "Most Spirits tend to dissipate when they leave their places of power."

"And you think that this is not what I seek?" Teract asked. "I am old, Jedi. I have watched over the millennia, as peace and war have come and gone. I have witnessed great deeds and small deeds. But never," he continued, his tone becoming sour. "_Never_, when immortality was advertised, did they mention the feeling of _abandonment_. Even when you watch some work of fiction on a holoscreen, you feel some sense of control, if only because you can pause to consider events, or you can choose not to witness it."

"You can't do that, can you?" Rafe stated, beginning to understand. "You're stuck inside this place and you can't get out... You can't influence what's going on out there..."

"Not by myself, no," Teract replied with an exasperated air. "Let _this_ be the measure of my desperation Jedi: _I_, an apprentice of the Sith Lords, one whose training and rise to glory took place a millennia before Exar Kun even began to plot against the Jedi, admit to you that I cannot free myself from this place and the torment it represents. _Only_ one of the Oahn-sarth could perceive my spirit here, and we are always few in number. Those of my own Order who came to this place always had their own ends in mind. And those of your Order..." He paused for a dry, hollow, chuckle. "Well, you are the first for a long while..."

Rafe considered this. The way that Teract put it, it didn't sound entirely unreasonable. There had been cases in the past of Sith that had come to regret their actions after they found the price that they paid after death. "So what makes me so useful for this?"

"You are of the Oahn-sarth," Teract pointed out. "That means we can communicate, which is a good start. On top of that you are open-minded; many of your kind would have turned away as soon as they recognised the symbols on my robes, and yet you stayed. You are a reasonable individual, and so though I did not expect you to simply give me what I wanted, I did entertain the idea that you would be open to being talked into it. And finally... Your capabilities. As you just demonstrated, the power to focus the Light Side such that you can dispel darkness is one that you have mastered very well. Use it. Burn my soul from this place, and let me rest at last, and in exchange, I will provide the information that you seek, such as is available through this Oracle."

Rafe paused, thinking about this for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Show me what you can, and I will do what I can to get you out of here."

"Then step closer, my Jedi friend," Teract said, smiling broadly. "And let us see what the visions of Oracles can offer to you."

* * *

The local Holonet news service didn't have much in it when Kyle checked. Nothing that they hadn't heard already, anyway.

The temporary moment of cheer that Kyle had achieved after being accosted by the trader had vanished quickly when he had made his way further into the city. The discovery that reports from Coruscant and other Core worlds indicated spontaneous celebrations of their new Imperial status hadn't helped matters. The further news that several Jedi survivors had been caught and killed, along with senators, noble families and business owners who had tried to aid them.

The only shining point in all of this was Mon Mothma's call to rally support for an immediate amendment to the law, restoring a number of the freedoms that Palpatine was already talking about curtailing for security reasons. The significance of the news that unrestricted access to the Holonet was already being taken away from the common citizens was not lost on Kyle; the Holonet was the principle source of information across the galaxy, and without it anyone attempting to organise some kind of resistance would have to do so via either long-range transmission, which was easy to intercept and hard to hide, or via one of the many Alternets that occasionally sprung up, but which only operated on a local basis, sometimes never reaching beyond a single planet or solar system. Taking open Holonet access away meant that Palpatine would be cutting out a major means of dissidents communicating, but also ensured that only official news services could get the word out to the public.

And this was one of just a handful of changes already being pushed through, and one of dozens that were planned. The man had only been Emperor for a single day so far, and already there were reports of sweeping changes coming through, even though the Separatist leaders had yet to be confirmed as being dead or defeated.

There were rumours of some kind of attack against the Emperor a few hours earlier, when someone, apparently a Jedi, managed to breach the Senate building's security and get into the Emperor's private office. These were being hastily denied, but for them to have filtered out this far meant that the denials were probably coming too late already. There was no mention of the Jedi being killed, which was something of a relief to Kyle; he had only been aware of two Jedi on Coruscant when he and Rafe had seen it in the Now, and neither of them were people that he particularly wanted to hear were dead.

Kyle considered the other news that was available for a moment longer, then shook his head and left. He wasn't likely to see anything that would put him in a better mood, let alone something that would prove useful; it was a minor miracle that news about that attack had got out so quickly.

Heading back through the crowded streets, he considered what their next move should be. There wasn't much to go on at this point. Whatever the Eye was would clearly present an issue to them sooner or later. But even ignoring that, what was a Jedi to do when they stopped being a Jedi?

There was the obvious answer to that of course; you never stopped being a Jedi. Even if you abandoned the robe, the Lightsabre, and stopped calling upon the Force, you were still a Jedi, entrusted with the task of preserving law and order in the galaxy.

For Seekers this might be easier to handle; as a group they tended to respond least to the Council's wishes, and be called upon the least to match it. Whereas most Jedi, upon being given an assignment, would be issued with what was deemed to be sufficient credits to cover any costs for the mission, and nothing more, Seekers frequently didn't find their way back to a temple for months at a time, following their own will and the basic tenet of their Chapter: find those who may become Jedi.

The half-hearted support that was granted by the Order to most Jedi was denied to Seekers for one simple reason; Jedi were expected to pay back to the Order any credits that remained from what they had been given, and any that they may have acquired in the process of completing their mission. Any excess was funnelled into the Order's funds, to be drawn on by other Jedi, or were donated to charities. The movements of Seekers were so irregular though, that supplying them with sufficient funds to cover any likely expenses before they returned was impractical.

Thus, the Order got around the issue by denying the Seekers normal funding. It was cruel, to a certain degree, but since most Jedi didn't entirely approve of the manner in which Seekers operated, the politics of the Order required them to please the majority. The upshot however, was that many Seekers were much better off than the Jedi Masters that had trained them before their ability to see the Now had been spotted.

Kyle was a fair example of this policy. Upon his Knighting, which occurred just after he transferred to the Chapter of Seekers, he had received one of his parent's cargo ships, the _Long Shot_, as a gift. Normal Jedi would have been required to refuse this gift, not only because Jedi were meant to live without material possessions beyond the necessity, but because he shouldn't have been aware of who his parents were in any event.

Instead, he had kept the ship, and upon graduating as a Seeker, had set out to make a small fortune carrying cargo. Within a couple of months he had a reputation for not being troubled by pirates, for avoiding navigational issues, and for generally finding his way around trouble a lot faster than most others could. Being able to see the Now, and thus spot ambushes along his flight-path whilst they were still being set up, presented a major advantage in that regard.

Rafe was a similar case, though without access to a ship he had tended to travel refugee class aboard passenger ships instead. His backwoods survival training, his training in healing – both physical and spiritual – and his more philosophical background put him in good stead with outlying communities, and people in emergencies. His wealth was in a more liquid form, in the shape of the handful of crystals and precious stones that he normally carried in place of cash.

There were of course those Seekers that didn't accept this principle of providing for yourself in such a manner; normally they were Seekers who had been brought into the Chapter after absorbing too deeply the concept of living without material goods, and so lived perpetually in a state that went beyond abject poverty. Aounam actually maintained a fund for these Seekers to draw on, and after apparently meeting one of them in the lice-ridden cargo hold of a bulk freighter that he was riding to orbit, Rafe donated regularly to this fund.

But on the whole, Seekers were better placed to deal with this situation. Most had some manner of earning a living beyond the regular funds offered by the Council, and they all possessed some kind of cover that meant very few people recognised them as Jedi, and even those that did generally did so because they were told; even the Lightsabre wasn't enough of a hint to some people.

But what if he was forced to abandon his cover as a freight carrier? That might not be an issue for Rafe, who had settled in as his co-pilot with little difficulty, and could return to his previous existence just as easily. For Kyle, piloting was a part of his life; Master Zane had been a fair pilot, and had apparently learnt most of what he knew from Kyle's uncle, but piloting had been in Kyle's blood, and even minimal tutelage from his uncle had left him surpassing his Master in this one respect from very early on.

There were always jobs to be had that required pilots of some kind. The light freighter business was always a good one, provided that you found the right industry. Getting in with some kind of smuggler group, such as the one run by Jorj Car'das or Jabba the Hutt, would guarantee a better market of course, but for the Jedi to sign up with such a group was dangerous, especially when such a group would have nothing against collecting the bounty on a Jedi that they found within their midst.

If that option failed... Swoop racing, or Pod-racing, was an option. Both were high profit sports if you knew how to get into them, and Kyle had some practise with both types of vehicle. Unfortunately, they were high _profile_ sports as well, and right now, with the records of every Jedi in existence potentially in the hands of a Sith Lord, it was probably wise to avoid that kind of publicity.

Some kind of mercenary work was a viable option; there had always been those whose talent for the Force had never been recognised until too late, or who had left the Order, and could use their talent for such work. Once again though, you ran the risk of being in a group of people that would have no compunction against turning you over to the authorities. Not to mention the continual risk of sliding to the Dark Side from the dubiously legal lifestyle.

There was always, as Rafe had offered once, the option of joining Rafe in his lifestyle. Kyle had considered it once, and had promised that he would try it sometime in the near future. Rafe had mentioned something about holding him to it, but nothing had ever come of it, with various kinds of business getting in the way any time Kyle had remembered.

If it became permanent, Kyle knew that he would be in good hands, just as Rafe knew he was in good hands whenever Kyle was piloting. But there was no way that the pair of them could support the running costs of the _Long Shot_ on that kind of lifestyle, and Kyle knew that he would be sorry to part with it, even if he managed to get it back to his uncle somehow rather than selling it off.

Kyle's musings brought him through the city to near the spaceport. Things were quieter around here, with fewer people taking up room in the streets. Most of them ignored Kyle, though a couple cast sideways glances at him. He, in turn, ignored everyone, at least as far as his eyes were concerned. His sense of his surroundings, tapping only slightly into the Now to present himself with a proper view of what was going on behind him, kept a close enough eye on everyone that he didn't need to worry about it though.

As he passed the entrance to the spaceport though, something tickled his sense of the Now. As if something dramatic was happening...

_Beams of light, burning brightly. They stabbed downwards, tearing the very air apart with their force._

_Screams assailed him from all sides as he stumbled, thrown as the ground itself heaved and tossed, torn asunder by the energies directed against it._

_Buildings were reduced to dust in an instant as those within them burnt and melted._

_Somewhere nearby a child cried for help, its parents lying dead beside it beneath a mound of rubble. Even as he focused on the child though, a sharp line of light struck down, silencing the cries and the pain._

_Desperately, he focused upwards, gazing past the brilliance of the lines of light, past the clouds that boiled and twisted, past the thin shell of the atmosphere..._

_The Eye looked back at him._

Kyle slammed hard against the wall as he stumbled, aware that his skin was steaming slightly from the attack. Desperately, his heart racing, he looked around, casting his gaze towards the sky and trying to find the hint of flames that would tell him that the Eye was up there, about to call destruction down upon them.

There was nothing though, aside from a couple of people who cast dismissive looks at him, clearly thinking him to be drunk to behave in such a way.

Breathing deeply, Kyle paused, trying to calm himself and to slow his heart down to a rate that didn't threaten to make it jump out of his chest.

The whole thing had, he realised, taken seconds from start to finish, and yet now he sensed nothing. Death on that sort of scale always left a mark in the Force, and while normal Jedi heard such things, Seekers heard it much more clearly. But death on that sort of scale should take hours, not mere seconds; it felt like someone had scoured the life from the surface of a world...

Standing as steadily as he could, his feet and legs not really wanting to cooperate in this effort, Kyle tried to totter in the direction of the _Long Shot_. There was a certain kind of logic to that action, though it could only be rationalisation through hindsight; a terror had gripped his heart, and the first thought in his head was to run and hide, even as he padded this idea out with some decent excuses.

As he approached the berth where he had left the _Long Shot_ however, he slowed, a more immediate concern getting his attention. Even before he reached it, he was aware of the attention focused on it, and by the time he was about to round the corner to it he had a clear image of who was there, and roughly where they were. Even lightly touching the Now gave him that much.

There were three of them there. A female human, a male Wookiee, and a droid of some kind. The limited, mechanical way that droids touched the Force left a bit of ambiguity when it came to detailed descriptions. It was enough to be able to see the shape that the droid made in the air and the glow of the weapons that it carried. The human carried a weapon as well, surprisingly bulky and shining with an intensity that spoke of high power. The Wookiee...

Kyle shook his head to clear it, then focused on the Wookiee again. Even though Seekers couldn't see visions of the past or future through the Force, the Now carried echoes of the past in it, around those that moved through it. The human carried several echoes, none that could be easily understood, but with the hint of an eventful life. The droid seemed to carry quite a few, which was unusual; most droids didn't carry any, though Kyle had privately equated this with the regularity with which they suffered memory wipes.

The Wookiee had almost no echoes though. It was almost like he was disconnected from his past, or was newborn.

Regardless of that, Kyle knew where they were standing, and pulled out his blaster and Lightsabre, watching through the Now as the figures stepped closer to the _Long Shot_, their intent to break in obvious through their stance and actions, even without the Force.

Slipping around the corner, Kyle took a couple of steps towards the _Long Shot_, then slipped into a recess in the wall, training his blaster along the wall towards the threesome.

"I think that's far enough," he declared.

* * *

Srah moved them quickly through the spaceport, taking a less circuitous route than she would have preferred to in her haste.

The place was quiet at the moment, with nothing loading or unloading from this city, and Srah found herself regretting this for a change. Normally her best work was done with no one around to interfere, and she often went to great lengths to ensure that as few people as possible were around to see her working.

Now though, a few more people might have helped to cover their actions, or at least presented something of a screen for them to hide behind. Instead the three of them were the only thing that a potentially bored security officer would have to distract himself with. At least with a crowd around someone else might have been picked as the target for an over-officious moment of boredom relief.

It didn't help that the three of them stood out quite a bit; even on a world that was used to diverse alien cultures, a human, Wookiee and droid double-timing it through the streets were going to seem unusual, even without the rail-rifle slung over Rhyydonning's shoulder.

The spaceport seemed unnaturally quiet, even considering that it was currently as close to 'downtime' as it got. That was one issue that some people never got their heads around; starships worked to their own timescale, and spaceports had to work to the same scale. That meant that the districts around spaceports rarely had a peaceful time on a regular basis. Ships could come and go whenever they needed to, especially on worlds were the principle imports or exports were perishables.

In the case of Jorrie, the cargo wasn't perishable, and tended to be transported bulk, so there were more definite downtimes that cautious shipjackers, or those with time to spare, would avoid. This wasn't one of those times.

_Someone just doesn't like me today_, Srah thought to herself as she paused outside the berth. There was still no one around, and no sign from back at her ship that they were concerned. Not that that might mean much, unless Tetee was actually awake for a change.

They moved quickly over to the entrance hatch, and Srah gritted her teeth at the discovery that it was closed. YT series transports featured an entrance ramp that lowered down onto whatever surface they had landed on, and the hatches were notoriously hard to open without permission. From Srah's own experience, the comparatively inaccessible exterior controls, and the security overrides that were available from the cockpit tended to make it easier to break in through one of the docking rings, or an escape pod. In this case the pilot had landed with the docking ring right up against a wall, and the escape pod was neatly concealed by the curve of the same wall. Srah also wasn't happy with the glimpse that she had caught of a red-highlighted R2 unit through the cockpit, and the way that her vambrace informed her that the ship's sensors were pinging the three of them every few seconds.

Whoever owned this ship obviously liked the idea of keeping it; some pilots didn't even bother raising the ramp when they left the ship alone, whilst this one had clearly left the ship's astromech with instructions to keep an eye out for trouble.

"This will be more tricky than we had anticipated," Gates murmured, his photoreceptor flickering back and forth across the hull around the main hatch, analysing every feature. "It certainly does not appear promising."

"That it doesn't," Srah agreed. "On the other hand, we don't seem to have much choice. Let's go."

As she stepped forwards, her senses flickered a warning, an instant before a voice called out to them.

"I think that's far enough."

Srah spun, her hand pulling the blaster from its concealed holster as she did, and going down onto one knee. Beside her, Gates and Rhyydonning both readied their weapons for action, Gates moving to cover possible angles that an attack might come from.

The person that had spoken was barely visible, mostly concealed in a recess in the wall, his own blaster trained on them. What little was visible of him suggested a spacer, his clothing being of a similar style to Srah's own.

"I don't like the idea of people trying to break into my ship," the figure called to them.

"We weren't trying to," Srah replied, forcing herself to loosen her grip a bit. "We just wanted to talk to the owner."

"Yeah, right," came the sarcastic reply. "And when the owner shows up the first thing that you do is pull a blaster on him. Oddly, I'm having a hard time believing you right now."

Srah cursed herself silently for that one; the trip across the spaceport had left her too tense, and she'd over-reacted. Under better circumstances they might have been able to talk their way out, but now it would be a lot harder, and would probably cost them quite a bit to keep this guy quiet.

Unless, they could manage to steal the ship from him despite his presence of course. Then they would still be in trouble, but they would at least get the credits for the ship itself.

Srah flicked a hand-sign at the other two, who responded by stepped further away from her, keeping close together in order to present a more tempting target.

By rights it should have worked. A droid carrying two blasters, and a Wookiee carrying what was technically an anti-tank weapon, should be something to pay attention to, especially when they appeared to be trying to flank you. And though the blaster did flicker in their direction, it jumped back to Srah just as quickly, clearly perceiving her to be the bigger target.

For a moment, just a moment, it crossed Srah's mind to wonder whether to hire this person; there was something about the way things were going at the moment, and she liked the feel of it. One job had gone wrong because one of her own people had messed up, and she had got a better deal out of it as a result. But that deal had nearly gone wrong when a potential crewmember interfered, and she had hired him. Now this person had interfered in another job... Was the Force trying to tell her something?

She musings were interrupted by a voice from above and behind her. That was strange enough, as there was no way that someone could simply have gained entry to the hanger except through the entrance that she had been keeping an eye on the entire time. That left the wall for someone to come over, which would have been pretty daring. That wasn't the most bizarre bit though: the voice spoke Danysh.

/Is this what you have come to then, Srah Heid?/

* * *

The Force boiled around Rafe as he stepped closer to Teract, the dark spirit shaping the flow of the Oracle's power around them both as he drew on its power-

Rafe looked around, surprised by his surroundings. Where seconds before he had been standing in the ruins of a mansion of some kind, beneath a cloudy sky, on a world that smelled heavily of sickeningly sweet death, he now found himself somewhere disturbingly familiar.

The sky was a bit clearer than he had last seen it, though clouds still hung overhead. The sounds were a bit more muted in the late evening air, and the world seemed to have a shine to it that couldn't be natural; Rafe understood immediately that it wasn't. This was a vision of some kind.

"Of some kind, yes," Teract agreed, clearly reading Rafe's surface thoughts as he stepped out of nowhere to join him. "Do you know where this is?"

Rafe nodded, looking around at the familiar setting. He had only stayed here for a couple of days, but days of such significance tended to burn even their surroundings into the memory, especially when it was so recent.

"This is Yehgast," Rafe replied. "This is the garden of the hostel that Kyle and I were staying in. Our apartment was on the second floor. We checked out less than a day ago." He paused, considering the feel of the scene before him. "And this isn't a vision... I've seen visions before, or felt them. I've shared them with other Jedi during cross-training after they found out that I was a Seeker. This is more than a vision."

"It is indeed," Teract agreed. "It is not advisable for either of us to delve into the Oracle's sight of the future, given what we both are, and so this is not a vision of a future, or of the past. Instead, I am using the Oracle's power to focus us in the Now. Or more precisely, to focus _you_ in the Now."

"Why me? Once again, you seem to be keen on this being about me," Rafe objected.

Teract laughed, patting Rafe companionably on the shoulder. "Relax, Jedi. This is not merely about you. But you, in this place, represent something rather special. Something wants you, and I would rather it didn't find where you _really_ are, quite yet."

Rafe looked around. Nothing seemed unusual about this place. They were viewing it through the Now, if Teract was to be believed, so it was happening in real-time. But nothing seemed about to go wrong. "Look, I'm starting to get bored of the cryptic stuff again. Normally, I'd be fine with it, but the last time I heard stuff like that from a dark-sider, he was making an effort to turn me. If that's what this is about, then let me go, because we're done here."

"We're not done quite yet," Teract replied, crossing his arms and gazing around. "You wanted to know about the Eye. This is where you first encountered it. This is where it first encountered you as well. Now, I'm not willing to risk using the Oracle to look too closely at something that powerful... But there is something that I can show you. The Eye is looking for you," Teract murmured, his eyes rolling up into his skull, his entire demeanour becoming focused, as if weighed down by some terrible need for concentration. Despite this, he continued to speak, muttering to himself or to Rafe, though it was hard to tell which.

"It sees all, but it should not. All is too much, and yet it sees it. We dare not see that much, though it comes to us through the Oracle." Rafe glanced around, sensing that something was changing; the light had shifted slightly, as if the world around him was becoming more solid, the line between dream and reality blurring as Teract continued to strengthen the actuality of the vision. "But what can we know that we do not already? It will find us, and we will be lost. We must... We must..."

Teract spun, facing Rafe so abruptly that the Seeker was taken aback. The dark spirit's eyes were bloodshot, and his skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor in a matter of seconds. "It is here," he whispered, his gaze rolling slowly upwards.

Rafe followed his gaze, wondering what the dark-sider was worrying about, when it struck.

A beam of light, so solid and coherent that it almost seemed like a metal bar, glowing white-hot, lanced out of the sky, striking the ground nearby. Rafe stumbled as the ground rocked beneath him, then winced as the wave of displaced air passed over them both, rattling the windows in the hostel behind them.

A second beam, as powerful as the first, struck out from the sky, boiling a cloud that it passed through and striking something explosive to judge from the fireball that leapt upwards.

"What is this?" Rafe shouted to Teract, the roar of the sustained beams nearly drowning out his words, and the world rocking again as a third stabbed out of the sky.

"The Eye has come for you," Teract murmured, his voice somehow carrying over the howling wind and the trembling of the ground beneath them. "The Eye wants you dead..."

Rafe looked up into the sky, tracing the beams back to their source, somewhere above the clouds, somewhere...

Flames spread across the sky as an eye, each subtle shift of colour and pigment and texture picked out in individual flares of light. From the centre of the dark circle in the sky, at the centre of the Eye, there came a flash-

Rafe collapsed backwards, the air heavy with steam, the ruins of the mansion of Jorrie around him scorched by the heat of the attack that had been carried back to that world through the Oracle. Vines and creepers that had colonised the ruins had been burnt away, and a couple of walls had collapsed under the assault.

Beside him, Rees was tugging on his sleeve nervously, as if trying to wake him; the little Muttamok had never really got the hang of how visions worked, and that Rafe couldn't communicate well right after them.

"What just happened?" Rafe managed to ask after taking a minute to gather himself.

Teract's form was washed out, faded, and wavering, and he was hunched over as if from some great physical effort. He was breathing deeply, most likely from habit rather than from genuine need, and leaning against the ghostly form of a pillar that shimmered in the air, the physical remains of which were in an age-decayed pile at his feet.

"That was the Eye," Teract admitted after taking a couple of minutes to recover. "Or as close as I can take you to it. It sought to find you, and end you. Had it traced you to this world, it would have destroyed every city here, every mind that it could find..."

"So you lead it to Yehgast," Rafe snarled. He wasn't as knowledgeable as he might have been of comparative planetology out in this region of space, but he knew that the population of Yehgast was around a thousand times that of Jorrie, where the nature of the cities confined people too much for a massive population.

"I lead them there," Teract admitted. "I had no wish to die by the happenstance of your choosing to be upon this world when the Eye found you. And... There is more," Teract said, more carefully.

"What more?" Rafe demanded, forcing himself to stand. The screams of the dying had been blunted by the power of the Oracle, but even muted they seared a Seeker's soul in a manner that would make other Jedi shudder and weep.

"The Eye has always been here," Teract declared, his gaze focusing on some far off place and time, presumably dipping into the Oracle's collected images of the past and future as much as he would dare to. Rafe had to admit that the man was brave, or crazy, on that count; he himself wouldn't dare to touch the Oracle even in the fractional and hesitant manner that Teract was using.

"The Eye has been silent, watching, hearing, observing. It has seen all, yet left no mark for doing so. It has hung in the dark places, unknowable, for many ages. It has slept, but it has begun to waken..." He seemed to be having trouble with the knowledge that was assailing him, but appeared driven not to pull back until he found what he wanted.

"Many voices speak in it. So many voices... Too many to make out, clamouring for release... But too many more have woken it. So suddenly, so many... It has woken. It sees more than it should now, hearing through their voices. It sees death, war... It sees the Dark Side, as it once did, and it flies freely once more..." He gritted his teeth, drawing on his reserves, and managed to grind out a few more words. "Many voices... Metal... It will not pass... Serpent... Balance..." He sagged as the tension drained from him.

"Yep," Rafe said slowly as Teract recovered himself. "That's why I never liked Seers; never a straight answer when you need one."

"My apologies," Teract replied, his humour already restored even as his spirit form regained some of its solidity. "But perhaps now you can appreciate that it is not entirely their fault that they must supply information so vaguely."

"Perhaps," Rafe agreed. "So what now?"

"Now I have told you all that I can," Teract admitted. "Save for some conclusions that I might draw; the Eye is a physical object on some level. Whether it is alive or not, I do not know. It touches the Force though, and for some reason responds strongly to the Dark Side. Almost, there is an air of familiarity to this link..." he added thoughtfully. "The reference to the Serpent, I suspect that you understand fully," Teract continued briskly.

"And that probably also includes the part about not passing as well," Rafe admitted. "They kind of fit together. That bit about Balance has me confused though..."

"That's a pity," Teract replied wistfully. "I only heard the single word, 'balance', without context or meaning attached to it, aside from two points; it was said with a certain amount of satisfaction, and I'm fairly certain that it was your voice," Teract finished with a hint of satisfaction.

"Me? Talking about balance?" Rafe shook his head. "Not unless I was complimenting someone of their gymnastics..."

"Nonetheless," Teract replied, "this is what I know. I have given you the information that I have access to, and saved your life into the bargain, which is certainly more than I originally offered to do. It's probably a good thing that my old Master isn't around now," he added thoughtfully. "I'd be in serious trouble if they were..."

"Okay, so now I free you," Rafe said. "Bearing in mind that I've never actually done anything like this before..."

Teract shrugged. "I've risked my sanity being tied to this place for the last five thousand years," he pointed out. "How badly could this go wrong that would actually make things worse for me?"

Rafe shrugged back, and set himself, pulling his Lightsabre out and holding it horizontally in a two handed grip in front of him. Dispelling spirits in this manner had officially been a couple of lectures one winter, largely covered for the sake of completeness. The theory was that if a person's spirit became entrapped by some means, a Jedi should be able to help to free it.

Rafe's own knowledge of it had extended a bit further than that during part of his training in spiritual healing, when a lecture had meandered into this territory during a long evening when the students would rather have been doing other things; they had perked up somewhat when Master Oulan had mentioned the dispelling of spirits, and sensing their interest he had abandoned the formal lecture in favour of this other topic.

The words of the banishment were similar to those of a dispelling, and Rafe considered which to use; the banishment was technically intended to attack enemies, whilst the dispelling was intended to aid friends by granting them release. Teract didn't technically fall into either category at the moment.

Then again, as with many of the rituals that Jedi used at one time or another, the words didn't really matter; they were merely there to make sure that your mind was in the right state.

Focusing himself, Rafe began. He immediately lost track of what he was saying, though thinking back afterward he remembered the rhythm has being something like the Song of Nostmiir, a tale of Jedi heroism and determination that had been turned into a nursery rhyme for younglings.


	5. Flashback 2

_The Song of Nostmiir_

_Translated from High Galactic_

Once Knighted was a peasant girl

From proud Naboo she heard the call

To Coruscant she made her way

Her path to set upon its way

The Council did not wish to hear

Of those too old to learn to serve

The offer they made to see her home

To Naboo a ship would go very soon

Her spirit undimmed by their refusal to teach

Nostmiir set out, to learn, to find

A way she would make for her place to find

Her to calling to answer,

_Incomplete_


	6. Chapter 3

Light streamed from between Rafe's fingers, the hilt of his Lightsabre shining with an inner radiance as he channelled the Force through it.

The metalwork of the Lightsabre was a burnished bronze, a series of interconnecting rings and curves, cunningly designed to slide over each other such that the casing could adjust its length to nearly double its normal size, or its width to a little under half again of its base. It was a masterpiece of mechanical engineering, which Rafe had almost considered to equal, or overshadow, the inner workings of the device; he couldn't pretend to guess how the Force truly moved through the Lightsabre's electronics, binding them and shaping them. On the other hand, a very clever person had devised the workings of this casing.

The love and attention that had gone into its construction now amplified Rafe's own power, the Light Side flowing into and around the hilt, slow waves of glowing power flowing around it like the swell on a pool of molten silver. A sound, pure and sweet, filled the air as Rafe focused himself, refusing to give in to the power that flowed around and through him.

Unbidden, the energies began to pour out of the end of the hilt, twisting themselves in the air, forming a blade of the Light Side that shone like a star, casting sharp shadows around the ruins. Almost as an afterthought, Rafe activated the regular blade, allowing the energy to shape itself around this form.

As the Song of Nostmiir came to an end, Rafe gently rotated the Lightsabre, bringing the blade upright as he opened his eyes and met Teract's gaze.

"Nostmiir would have been proud of you," Teract commented, nodding approvingly, his voice barely audible over the humming of the Lightsabre and the song of the Light Side.

The hint of a smile touched Rafe's lips, before he began speaking again. "Teract of the Sith, that has wished to be hence from this place, take of the power before you and let it guide your path to your rest."

Teract stepped forwards, reaching out to grasp the ethereal blade of the Lightsabre. "Nicely done," he said, his voice and form already fading as the light streamed over him. "Two things. I meant what I said about Nostmiir; she was the one that killed me in the end, so I imagine that she would find a fitting justice that her song should end my life completely. And you should return to your ship quickly..."

As Teract faded, taking with him the otherworldly glow from the Lightsabre, Rafe took a deep breath to recover. He had rarely had to draw on that much power before now, and many Jedi probably got through their entire career without having to do so. It had been exhilarating to feel that much power going through him, but at the same time it had been humbling to experience the majesty of the Force in that manner.

Recovering slowly, Rafe allowed the raw energy to flow out of him. His breathing slowed as he remained standing there, still holding the Lightsabre before him, the glow from the yellow blade casting a faint glow now that it was no longer empowered so dramatically. The hum filled the air, seeming pale compared to the song of the Light Side that had overflowed into the ruins, resonating through them and the Oracle.

Switching off the Lightsabre, he staggered a bit, and then considered Teract's final words. Nostmiir came from a period five thousand years previous, which matched with Teract's claim to have been trained a thousand years before Exar Kun. But there weren't any references that Rafe had heard of to any Sith called Teract from that period...

The other point, regarding the ship, was a significant one as well. Given what had just happened with regards to the Eye trying to kill him, he felt it best not to try using the Now to take a look at the ship. On the other hand he was aware of a sense of direction that he had not possessed before, as if the land was known to him in a way that it had not been before.

_Teract_, he reasoned; the Sith had clearly left him with a route back, one that followed a less circuitous path than he had used to reach the ruins in the first place, and bypassed a couple of the native hazards that he had spotted before. It seemed that the Sith genuinely had repented if he was going to this kind of effort to assist a Jedi.

Following this path, Rafe made good time back, arriving at the city wall rather than the heavy gates that he had left through. A rough bit of guesswork placed him right behind the spaceport, and within a few dozen metres of the _Long Shot_.

"Nice trick," he muttered, looking around. Teract might have been up on galactic events, hooked into the Oracle as he had been, but he apparently hadn't considered how someone, even a Jedi, was meant to get over the wall. _No, he thought of that_, Rafe realised. _He just didn't realise that I'm trying to hide the fact that I'm a Jedi_.

Making sure that no one was around, that Rees was hanging on tightly, and that he wasn't being observed by any cameras, Rafe crouched, calling on the Force once more, and hurled himself into the air, propelling himself over the wall in a single bound.

Nearly... The wall was designed to keep out the local predators, and even using the Force to boost himself, he only made it as far as the first tier of sentry balconies that ringed the wall and were largely unused due to the lower wall's effectiveness.

Rees leapt off him back onto the balcony as Rafe hauled himself over the railing that ringed it, took a moment to rest, then hurled himself upwards again, managing to land on the sloped top edge of the roof this time, his boots squealing as he fumbled for a handhold, then falling flat as he threw himself at the edge of a vent.

"Well," he murmured to himself as he steadied his breathing once more, "no one said this was going to be a glamorous job..." Sliding himself up the wall, he eventually managed to stand, and staggered up to the edge, crouching before he became too obvious against the skyline.

Teract's idea of sending him here now made more sense; the port authorities' building was right below him, and just off to the left was the _Long Shot_. Sliding over the edge and onto the Authorities building, he slipped down towards Kyle's ship.

Already he could sense the conflict brewing down there; Kyle's presence to one side, focused on two people and a droid. The Wookiee was a familiar shape in the Force, even if there was a strange... shadow... to him. The droid wasn't immediately familiar, but there was an amazingly coherent aura of danger around it. The third figure though...

He slipped down onto the _Long Shot_'s engines, and then moved silently across to the gap above the boarding ramp. Looking down, he grinned at the familiar form below him. Rees chattered quietly to himself at the familiar smell.

/Is this what you have come to then, Srah Heid?/ Rafe called out, using the language of the Daneyee, rather than Basic.

To her credit, she didn't even flinch, though he could _feel_ the grin forming on her face. /Rafe Belwynn,/ she called out, not adjusting her aim even slightly from Kyle's position. /What brings you to a place like this?/

/You're trying to steal my ride,/ he informed her, slipping down onto the ground behind her.

Immediately, Rees launched himself at her, making happy noises as he wrapped himself around her and hugged her. "Okay Rees, okay!" she said as she slid the blaster away and scratched the Muttamok behind the ears. "Down boy..." She turned and smiled at Rafe. "Care to call your buddy off?"

"Which one?" Rafe asked with a smile, before looking past her. "It's okay Kyle. They're friends."

"Yeah right," Kyle replied sourly. "Friends that just tried to steal my ship." He kept his blaster out as he walked over to join Rafe and Srah. "Who is this then?"

"Kyle Reeves, meet Srah Heid," Rafe said by way of introduction. "She grew up a short walk from the Temple on Aounam. We've known each other since... Well, forever," he managed.

"Actually, I believe that it was one evening in the spring when you younglings had been taken out for a walk, and _someone_ decided to wander off on his own and needed rescuing..."

"I wasn't lost, didn't need 'rescuing', and I seemed to remember having to help you out anyway," Rafe objected. "Anyway, haven't you got some introductions to do?"

Srah nodded, flicking her hair back as she gestured at the other pair. "Rhyydonning, G2C-2KW, meet Rafe Belwynn. As you've probably guessed, he's an old friend. This pair are my heavy weapons specialist, and pilot, respectively."

"Nice to meet you," Rafe said, nodding in their direction. "So... When did you turn to shipjacking?"

She shrugged. "About half a year after I left Aounam; a couple of years before the war broke out. And I'm sorry that I tried to run off with your ride. I've picked up a really nice ship, but I'm a bit late getting it to my boss, so I needed something to sweeten the deal."

Kyle growled at the back of his throat. "There are two things I don't like about this," he declared. "Firstly, that you're so friendly with a _thief_," he said, trying to spit the word, "and secondly, she knows that you're a Jedi."

"And I'm guessing that you're one as well," Srah replied, with a cocky smile. "What's the point?"

"The point is the sizable bounty placed on Jedi," the droid pointed out. "Srah, this pair could easily pay off any troubles it cost us taking their ship."

Srah nodded thoughtfully, though Rafe sensed that she was nodding in agreement with the statement rather than with its intent. "There's a problem with that though Gates... I don't claim bounties on people that I've had sex with."

Rafe could see the expression on Kyle's face shift as his thoughts followed that one; relief that she was saying that she wouldn't be claiming the bounty, followed by concern that her reason didn't apply to him, followed by curiosity about exactly what it did mean. He cast a questioning look in Rafe's direction.

"We're not a monastic order Kyle," Rafe reminded his fellow Seeker. "And there was good reason for it..."

As Kyle slowly digested that, Rafe turned to Srah. "Where are you heading next? Somehow the coincidence of us meeting up like this doesn't seem likely to end just like this."

"Ah yes, the Force moving in mysterious ways," Srah said, using the phrase with a certain amount of relish. Rafe found himself smiling as well, a part of him reminded of the good times back home, before the universe became complicated. Srah was clearly getting the same kick out of the situation as well. "Well, our next stop was planned as being Neuook-"

"Oh _sithspit_," Kyle muttered. "I'll make a guess; your boss is Atraas the Hutt, right?"

Srah looked at him, slightly surprised, and then laughed out loud. "Oh, this is too good to be true!"

* * *

_Hyperspace_

_Route ENC-271-KK7-3 following Jorrie/ Neuook beacon_

"So, you went in for shipjacking?"

Srah leaned back, putting her feet up on the coffee table in the middle of the lounge and lifting her glass in a toast to Rafe. They had launched both of their ships, and then locked them together in orbit, allowing Gates to pilot the _Vagrant Soul_ whilst the freighter carried the _Long Shot_ along with it. Kyle had agreed to this somewhat reluctantly, but was showing greater reluctance to leave his ship now that it was at the mercies of an accomplished shipjacker.

Rafe, to her delight, showed no such hesitation, and had joined her in the lounge as soon as he was able to. He, at least, hadn't changed much since she saw him last; he still had a boyish look to him that convinced some people that he was almost a decade younger than his 28 standard years put him at, and which had convinced some teachers that he was still a youngling when he was picked as a Seeker.

His attire hadn't changed much either; Seekers like Rafe tended to abandon the traditional robes as soon as they became Seekers, since they weren't much use going around looking like Jedi. Admittedly now he was going for a more generic backwoods look than he had before; with its limited contact with the rest of the galaxy, Aounam tended to breed styles unique to itself, and those of its children that went beyond the Skin quickly found themselves slightly at odds with other styles and customs.

He still wasn't wearing a blaster, which amused her; he's never got the hang of how to use the things, despite being able to bulls-eye Marksman drones out of the sky using a slingshot by the age of eight. He was wearing something hanging from his belt that looked suspiciously like a sling, which almost made her chuckle.

"Yeah, I went in for shipjacking," she replied with a lazy grin. "I originally tried going in for regular trading. Then one of the early Separatist attacks, back before they were the Separatists, caught me off-guard. Cut off from my ship, with those _iyyitesha_ droids running around all over the place, I did the only thing that I could; I ran off with someone else' ship. And I found out that I was pretty damned good at it in the process. Sell that ship off to the first Hutt I run into, and he offers me a bounty for more of the same that's about ten times what I could make legitimately. Come on, seriously, what would you have done?"

Rafe fixed her with a steely glare. "I'm a Jedi Srah... However much some other Jedi might object to that idea, I am still entrusted with maintaining order in the Republic."

"Not that there's much of a Republic to shout about right now," Srah replied, not as gently as she might have done. "Nor is there currently much of an Order to speak of. What happened?"

Rafe sighed, dropping his glass heavily onto the table with a resounding _thunk_. "We were betrayed..."

"You don't say... What happened? Someone dipping into forbidden books again?"

Rafe shook his head. "I don't think this was another like Mescra. Mescra was just... Dissatisfied," he said, picking his words carefully. Srah nodded in agreement, already sorry that she had brought up the topic; Mescra was one of the truly dark moments of Rafe's life, where one of his friends had fallen, however briefly, to the Dark Side, in no small part because Rafe had not fully appreciated the effects of putting Mescra into a new environment without some kind of preparation.

"So what happened then?"

One again, clearly unhappy about not knowing, Rafe shook his head. "We know that Palpatine is a Sith Lord. He's the one we've been looking for, for the last twenty or so years in fact. That means that he had to have been moving everything around like a _geshking_ dejarik game, pitting one half of the galaxy against the other and using the conflict to kill off the Jedi into the bargain. Whichever side won, he would have been on top.

"But he couldn't have done it alone... Count Dooku was obviously one of his students, and the Sith that was apparently on Naboo was another... There must have been another apprentice after Dooku was killed."

"Yeah? How come?" She shrugged defensively as Rafe cast a reproving look at her. "What? _You_ were the one studying Jedi lore, not me," she reminded him.

"It's to do with the Rule of Two," Rafe explained. "About a thousand years ago, the Sith had been at war with the Jedi, and I mean _war_, rather than just occasional Dark Jedi turning up, for about a thousand years, on and off. Then, at the end of those wars, after the Thought Bomb was set off on Ruusan by Lord Kaan, the Republic was restructured, the Jedi were restructured, and the Sith invoked the Rule of Two. Literally, at any one time, there can only be two Sith; a master, who wields power, and an apprentice, who craves it. Once the apprentice is more powerful than the master, he takes the master's place, and an apprentice of his or her own."

"How does this 'taking the master's place' happen then?"

Rafe treated her to another slow stare. "They're _Sith_... How do you think it occurs?"

"Right," she replied. "So how do you know this anyway? I doubt the Sith handed out pamphlets explaining it to the Jedi."

"Oh, we've turned a few of the potential apprentices back to the Light over the last millennia," Rafe said vaguely. "Some of them have hung around the master long enough to get the hang of the Rule of Two, then been kicked out by a more competent apprentice. They come whining to us... Okay, not literally," Rafe admitted when Srah looked surprised. "But you remember how Mescra was after she came back? Now remember that she was only _dipping_ into the Dark Side..." He trailed off ominously.

"Ouch," Srah replied. She had seen Mescra during the short gap between the young Bimm being brought back to the Light Side and her disappearance. She had been a tragic sight; withdrawn, uncertain, and weepy. In truth she hadn't done that much wrong; her age and experience had been against her, and some less helpful people had suggested that she needed to just get over it. For someone that had really plunged themselves deeply into the Dark Side though, it would be a different matter.

"So, because of the Rule of Two, Palpatine must have taken on another apprentice," Rafe explained. "And since he was apparently present when Dooku was killed, that means he must have had someone in mind at the time, or he would have tried to prevent Dooku's death."

"A Sith, trying to save another Sith?" Srah was sceptical on that one.

"It's possible. Count Dooku had to represent a massive investment of time and energy to turn; he was originally a Jedi remember, and he was trained by one of the council members on Coruscant, so getting him to shift to the Dark Side had to be a lot of work. So whoever he found to replace him, must have been worth the loss of Dooku."

"That's hard to imagine..." Srah considered, then decided to change the topic. "What about you? The Order no longer exists as such-"

"That hasn't been confirmed," Rafe replied sharply. "We don't know how many Jedi survived, or where they might be. Once we've had a chance to assess our situation, _then_ we can work out what state the Order is in."

"Oh come on," Srah objected. "You're meant to be a Seeker, aren't you? Finding Jedi is _what you do_!"

"It was..." Rafe said slowly. Srah frowned. She had never really seen Rafe scared; he tended not to show it when he was, and there had only been a few situations where she would have said that he could have actually been scared anyway. But now, there was an edge to his voice that suggested he was very worried by something.

"Something attacked Kyle and myself, whilst we were in the Now... That shouldn't be possible," Rafe added hastily. "I mean, we've always been concerned that the Sith might find a Seeker of their own, so we've tried all sorts of ways of attacking, restraining... Anything that the Sith could use against us in the Now. And nothing worked. But something out there... Something a lot more powerful than anything that we've ever come across before now, or even heard of to my knowledge, attacked us. We can't risk using the Now, in case it finds us again. And that brings me onto where we're going," he added. "I need to talk to Kyle about this one..."

* * *

The blur of hyperspace flashed past the cockpit, and Kyle found himself unable to ignore it. Always before sitting in this seat, he had been in charge, had been knowing where they were going, and had never had a problem sitting there, effectively ignoring everything that was going on outside the ship. Now though, it was a different matter; now his ship was attached to someone else's, and they were choosing the route, they were in charge.

It didn't help that, due to the construction around the docking ports on both ships, the _Long Shot_'s cockpit was facing about thirty degrees off-centre.

Beside him, Red twittered nervously, the photoreceptor on his dome swinging back and forth between the view outside and Kyle. The little astromech droid wasn't handling being at someone else's mercies any better than Kyle was. Technically Kyle should have admonished the droid for being in the cockpit when it should have been running maintenance. He had developed an empathy for the droid over the years though; decades of working for his parents and uncle had given it some interesting personality, and he had long ago found that he could chat with the droid more easily than with other people, his understanding of the pidgin Binary that Red had developed with his uncle sufficient to allow for at least basic conversation.

"You think you know people..." Kyle murmured to himself, shaking his head as he gazed off to a point slightly to the left of the hyperspace vanishing point. Red whistled a question at him, and he glanced down. "What? Oh... It's Rafe. I thought that I knew him reasonably well, that he wouldn't have any major surprises. He seems like that kind of guy doesn't he; open, serious, not the kind that you expect to have any sort of hidden past."

Red whistled softly as he considered, then twittered a question. "I don't know what I might have expected," Kyle objected. "I just wasn't expecting to find out that he was friends with a shipjacker... That seems totally at odds with what I knew about him."

The droid twittered pointedly. "Yeah, okay," Kyle replied. "So I've known him for all of a couple of years now. Still, that should be more than enough to find out that kind of thing. Now it turns out that I don't actually remember the names of any of his friends at all, if he ever mentioned them. I never really knew anyone near the Academy on Corellia, or on Coruscant, but Rafe was good friends with someone that lived a short walk away from the temple on Aounam."

Once again, Red pointed out a problem with this. "Yeah, I know they do things differently there. _And_ I grew up knowing my parents which most Jedi don't. Sithspit, I was probably closer to them than I was to most of the other students at the Academy, and _that_ isn't right by any stretch of the Code..."

Abruptly, he noticed something peculiar; the roiling blur of hyperspace was changing around them. It wasn't something significant; certainly not something that most people would have noticed. But Kyle had spent long enough in hyperspace to recognise the different patterns of acceleration, deceleration, and course changes. The ship that the _Long Shot_ was attached to had begun to adjust its course, swinging around in a new direction, off the hyperspace beacon.

Instinctively his distrust of the situation flared, and he nearly hit the control to disengage from the freighter; it wouldn't have been a problem for him, since the _Long Shot_ would simply have been left floating in hyperspace until he either used the hyperdrive to escape or hit a gravity-well powerful enough to take him out.

Second thoughts stayed his hand though. Rafe was still aboard the _Vagrant Soul_, and would be left behind. Furthermore, as Kyle reached out through the Force, he sensed that Rafe already knew about the course change, and wasn't unhappy about it. He was unhappy about something though, which Kyle cursed himself for having not noticed properly earlier on; he had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the dark thoughts lurking in Rafe's mind until now.

Touching a control, he brought up the ship-to-ship intercom, a physical link established through the airlock's communication's port when ships were linked together in this manner. "Would somebody mind explaining to me where we're going," Kyle called into the intercom, keeping an eye on the navigation computer as it tried to recalculate their course; it wasn't much good, and never was, without real-space landmarks to work with. But already there was a hint of a beacon showing up, which the computer was trying to interpret.

Rafe's voice came back over the intercom, rather than the voice of one of the other members of Srah's team. "_I've asked Srah to make a detour... I think I need to tell you about something I found on Jorrie_."

"So come over here and tell me," Kyle replied.

"_She's not going to try and run off with your ship just because you've come over here_," Rafe pointed out, sounding more amused than annoyed at Kyle's reaction. "_Red will be able to keep an eye on it without you_."

Kyle considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No way. I don't trust your new friend."

There was a sigh from the other end of the line, interrupted by Srah's voice. "_Actually, I'm an old friend_."

"Either way," Kyle replied sharply, not liking the playful tone of voice that she was using. "You can come down here and tell me why..." He trailed off as the navicomp finally worked out what beacon they were heading for. "You can tell me why we're heading back to Yehgast," he finished, a shiver running up his spine at the thought of returning to that place.

"_That's complicated_," Rafe replied. "_We'll be over in a minute_."

Kyle met them both in the lounge, having sent Red off to ensure that the other astromechs were keeping guard over different areas of the ship. Srah greeted him cordially enough, but there was still something of a grin about her expression.

"Okay, I haven't properly explained to Srah why we've altered course yet," Rafe admitted, and quickly laid out the details about what had happened on Yehgast, starting from their arrival there after the Clones started to kill other Jedi, and through the experience of the attack by the Eye of Fire in the Now.

"So, now we're going back there?" Srah asked. Kyle had been impressed; despite her casual attitude, she had listened intently when the facts began to come out about how bad things were, and had only interrupted with a couple of questions for clarification on parts that Rafe was skipping quickly over. "I mean, this thing attacked you there..."

"It wasn't physically there at the time," Rafe pointed out. "And if it could use the Now to find us that easily then it wouldn't matter where we were in the galaxy. The problem is a... vision... that I was shown while we were back on Jorrie.

"While I was recovering on the way to Jorrie, I remembered something about an Oracle there. I found an old reference to it in our records, and I went out to see what I could find from it. It turns out that I didn't remember those details; there was the spirit of a Sith inside the Oracle, and he wanted to draw me in so that he could talk to me."

Kyle looked at him sharply, and was surprised when Srah did as well, as if she recognised the same significance of this. "What did he want?" Kyle asked.

"To talk, to start with," Rafe replied. "He was trapped in the Oracle, from a time before Exar Kun, and he wanted out, even if it meant that his spirit would fade. He offered to tell me what he could about the Eye if I freed him."

"And you did?" Srah said, her tone sceptical.

"I made a deal," Rafe replied with a shrug. "And he gave us something to work with; hints about the Eye, fragments of visions... It has a physical form, of some kind. It's old. Very old in fact. Something about the Serpent, balance, a lot of voices... It's some help I suspect, but we'll need to work on it. The problem is that I've seen the Eye a second time."

"How come?" Kyle asked, a shiver going through him as he remembered the flickering vision that he had been assaulted by.

"Teract, that's the Sith spirit's name, showed me Yehgast. As it was at that moment. When the Eye attacked it." He caught Kyle's reaction. "You saw it, didn't you?"

Kyle nodded, hanging his head as he replied. "I thought that... I hoped that I was wrong about the symbology of it, that it was the Clones again. It was the Eye though?"

"The Eye attacked Yehgast, because it thought that we were still there. It tried to kill us, and I have to see, because I think that it scoured the life from that world to make sure that it got us."

Srah gaped at him. "Rafe... Yehgast's population..."

"I know... It was high." He sat back, glowering at nothing. "But I've got to see for myself, because we need to stop this thing, or at least work out what it's actually capable of, before it does too much more damage."

"So we're going back to Yehgast," Kyle asked slowly. "Where we now _know_ that this thing was, quite recently."

"It will have moved on," Rafe assured him. "This thing is old, and it's avoided detection for a long time. It's not likely to hang around where it might be spotted that easily."

"Besides, we'll bring the _Vagrant Soul_ out of hyperspace in deep solar orbit," Srah commented. "We should be able to tell from a decent range whether anything's really happened there or not, even without resorting to faster-than-light sensors. With a bit of luck, or the will of the Force, we'll be in and out so fast that even if it is there, it won't have time to see us before we're gone."

Kyle frowned at her, trying to work out something that he had just noticed. Srah spoke with a casual air, and seemed to ignore the unusual legal niceties such as not stealing. But the way that she had said 'the will of the Force' suggested that she genuinely believed the phrase, rather than that she was simply using it as an alternative to saying 'with luck'. Even some Jedi, generally the more relaxed ones from the fringe traditions couldn't manage to say 'the will of the Force' with the conviction that Srah had just used.

"Just who are you?" he asked, slightly annoyed now. Amongst other things, being a Jedi was meant to teach you to appreciate other people and their point of view better, and yet Kyle found himself unable to work out where Srah was coming from. "Even growing up alongside a Jedi Temple, there is no way that you could be talking that sincerely about the Force. Even my parents didn't, and my father was practically blood brother to a Jedi Master."

Srah cast a questioning look at Rafe. "I thought that Jedi weren't meant to know who their parents were..."

"I know who my parents are," Rafe replied. "I might have only seen them a couple of times, but I know who they are."

"Yeah, but Aounam was always odd like that," Srah pointed out. "He's not from Aounam."

"No, I'm from Corellia," Kyle replied. "And you're dodging the question. Only people that trained as Jedi tend to speak about the Force like that, but you're not a Jedi."

"I could have been though," she replied with a cheeky grin.

Kyle paused, unsure of how to take that one, before he worked it out. "You're one that was missed out..."

"Damn right," Srah agreed. "Something about living just across the gorge from the Seeker's chapel meant that they never spotted me until I was too old to be accepted for training. Doesn't mean that I didn't get a _bit_ of training at least," she added, scowling at the glasses on the table next to them, and sending a couple of them skittering across the slick surface.

Kyle looked sharply at Rafe, who shrugged. "What? _I_ didn't start training her."

"No, you just helped," Srah replied. "Trying to show off..."

"Hey, at least I was only _trying_, and not _actually_ showing off," Rafe retorted. "Unlike some people..."

"What happened to him anyway?" Srah asked suddenly, the non sequitur catching Kyle off-guard. "Is he..."

"I don't know," Rafe replied, having apparently understood the reference. "I don't know what state _any_ Jedi aside from Kyle and myself are really in, aside from a couple of Masters that we found on Coruscant."

"Who?" Kyle asked.

"Old friend from Aounam," Srah replied vaguely, her attention not entirely with the situation as she thought about it. "What about the Temple?"

Rafe barked a laugh. "You haven't been keeping track of time since you left, have you?"

For a moment Srah gazed off into the distance, and Kyle could sense the numbers being churned in her mind before she smiled suddenly. "Grake's sake... He timed that one badly..."

"You can't use conventional hyperdrive to reach Aounam at this time of the year," Rafe explained for Kyle's benefit. "There's an entire Jedi Temple that the clones can't reach right now. Palpatine must have been seething when he found out about that."

"So why exactly are we worried about the Order being wiped out then?" Kyle asked. He hadn't realised that Rafe's homeworld might have been left untouched. So far in fact, Rafe had been talking about all of the Temples being wiped out.

"Because 'this time of the year' only started a couple of days ago," Srah explained. "They could have got troops in there before the planet was locked off, but those troops will now be stuck there for another three months. And if they did wipe everyone out, they can't get word out to anyone, because communications don't work through that kind of chop."

"In which case, we're talking about three months before _anyone_ that isn't a Jedi finds out what happened in there," Rafe pointed out. "Until then, we risk burying our heads and go on as if they weren't around to help, because for the next few months they might as well not be."

* * *

_Deep Orbit around OR-347-229v_

_Primary world: Yehgast_

The solar system around the star designated OR-347-229v was smaller than some; three worlds orbited the star, only the innermost in the region that left it with a chance of being habitable to Humans and similar species without major terraforming work. The second world was two AU out from the star, a cold rock that should by rights have been a small gas giant, had the third planet, an uncomfortably close four AU out, not stolen all of the free-floating gases in the outer system. There was a fourth planet, designated a sub-planet since it orbited its own moon nearly as much as the moon orbited it, out in the fifty AU range, though this was largely ignored.

Deep orbit left the _Vagrant Soul _sitting five AU out from the star, on the opposite side of the solar system from the second and third planets, with only Yehgast and a couple of comets to keep them company. The _Long Shot_ had detached almost instantly, drifting a short distance away with a trailing wire between the two ships for communication.

Both were running silently, with cabin lights turned off, engines at minimal power, and their angle of exit from hyperspace calculated to angle the Cronau radiation flash away from all the most likely places for someone to be observing from. And the exit from hyperspace was rougher than usual as they failed to reduce their speed, coming out at nearly twenty PSL, and blasting along at that speed, running silently on a course that would take them close to Yehgast, and would then slingshot them around the sun and away again without them ever needing to power the ships up again.

Even the three aboard those ships that were blessed to touch the Force were running silently, all three withdrawing themselves as best they could, the rapid lessons over the six hour journey having left Srah with a somewhat better idea of how to keep herself silent in the Force.

"Anything?" she asked aloud, not specifying a recipient for her query. She wasn't very comfortable with this situation, in any regard; that they were apparently chasing something capable of laying waste to the entire population of a planet in seconds left her especially nervous. She was going to be in enough trouble as it was, without having to risk her ship and crew like this. Several of them were just along for the ride, hired grunts provided by Atraas to help her and to make sure that she finished the job. Those, she wouldn't miss once the job was completed. But her core team, she didn't want to be risking.

"We are not detecting any ships in the solar system," Gates announced. He had abandoned the pilot station in favour of the comms and sensors post when the main engines had been taken off-line.

"_That kind of low activity wouldn't be unusual around here_," Kyle commented from the _Long Shot_. "_I think that between us arriving and leaving, no other ships came or went_."

"Really quiet place," Srah said, biting her lip as she stared out into space. This far out, it was tricky to even tell which was the star that they were closest to, or where Yehgast was. She rarely dropped out this far out from a world; planetary flight control zones varied in their degree of severity, and civilian ships were required to abide by then, enduring a sometimes five or six day flight out of and into worlds. Cargo vessels, consular ships and so forth were given greater leniency, but even so some worlds wouldn't accept less than a few days leeway for safety.

That wasn't a surprise; at the kind of speeds that hyperspace moved you at, human – even Jedi – reaction times weren't really sufficient to handle the timing of a transition to sublight speeds, and a slip of half a second could mean the different between turning up in lunar orbit and blowing out half of the systems on your ship when the planet's gravity well yanked you out. Navicomps eased things on that end, bringing a ship out where you told it to, but even then the computer could only work with the data it had at its disposal, and errors crept into astrogation charts very quickly. The flight control zone was intended to compensate for this, giving you a much larger safety margin.

Srah was unused to using them though; normally the first thing she did aboard a new ship was to disable any limits on flight control zones. Given how professional and effective she was at her job, this was the nearest that she got to thrill seeking these days, since what had started out as dare-devil work was now starting to become almost routine. Even at the speeds that they were going, which would flash them past Yehgast in a little under forty five minutes, she was finding trouble gathering the patience to sustain herself through the wait.

/_Calm yourself Srah_,/ Rafe advised over the intercom, using Danysh.

/I thought you were meant to be keeping yourself tight,/ she retorted sharply.

/_So are you_,/ he reminded her. /_You're twitching all over the place though_./

"_Can you guys speak Basic please_?" Kyle objected plaintively. "_Some of us don't sing that stuff_."

Srah managed a grin, then took a breath, forcing herself to relax and allow her presence in the Force to diminish as she pulled it in to herself. She continued this for a moment, feeling her sense of the universe around her coming in closer as she deliberately restricted it. Even untrained, her sense of her surroundings through the Force had been exceptional, some said uncanny, and she had always wondered what it would have felt like to be without that sense. She didn't exactly know for certain right now, but it still felt horribly claustrophobic.

Gates interrupted her when he spoke up. "Interesting."

"What is?" she asked.

"Yehgast," Gates explained. "Even a world that doesn't see much traffic will maintain a constant beacon to warn people of its presence, allegiance, potential species-specific bio-hazards, and so forth. But I am detecting nothing from Yehgast. We are still receiving the hyperspace beacon, but nothing else."

"You've searched all of the bands?" she asked, stepping closer to look over Gates' shoulder.

"Of course," Gates replied, casting a supercilious look at her. "I have checked all standard communication bands that this vessel we have stolen is able to receive. I have also checked the more common non-standard channels, local frequencies, and a variety of other signals. However, even the planet-side holonet transceiver does not appear to be active any longer."

"_Again, that might not be too odd_," Kyle commented. "_While we were there I don't think we got any live news at all; everything was several hours old by the time it got onto the local news service. Even RNS was only shown in reruns_."

"Yeah, but that doesn't meant that the transceiver was down," Srah replied, considering carefully what they were seeing. "It could just mean that things took a while to get here..."

"_I guess that we'll need to give it a few more minutes before we find out_," Rafe declared from the _Long Shot_. "_We'll be at close approach in... Thirty five minutes_."

It was a long wait, and it grew steadily colder as the two ships hurtled onwards, unpowered and uncontrolled. The lack of background noise from the ship began to wear on Srah's nerves first, as she tried to force herself to stare out of the cockpit's canopy. For the first time in years she was reminded of how potentially flimsy ships like this were; the navigational shields had been deactivated, and so the only thing protecting the hull was the ablative plating. The air inside the ship was being processed only minimally, though they had calculated carefully that it would last them to the far end of their slingshot manoeuvre without needing any kind of scrubbing at all. Internal heating had been all but shut off. Even the gravity had been reduced to minimise the power requirements.

It would leave a cautious person concerned to fly around in something that was less functional than an escape pod at this point. Even to an experienced spacer, it was worrying.

The next thing that got on her nerves was the noises that _were_ there; Gates whirred softly every time he moved, and all of a sudden he seemed to have developed a nervous twitch, checking and rechecking the sensors every few seconds, always at a not-entirely-regular timing, so that he filled the cabin with a jarring and irregular rhythm that jolted the human nervous system every time it missed the expected beat.

On top of that, Rhyydonning started humming. Humming wasn't necessarily a bad thing, if it was a good tune. Wookiee humming though was a deep bass that was felt through your chest as it echoed inside your ribcage, as much as it was heard through your ears. She tolerated it for a few moments, trying to shake the nagging feeling that she knew where it had come from, and not being able to place it. What made it more annoying was that Rhyydonning clearly had no idea that he was doing it; he was simply humming at random...

Or not so random, she realised as she realised the tune that he was mangling so badly that it had taken her five minutes to recognise was one that she should have known the instant that she heard it.


	7. Flashback 3

_Eighteen months before the instigation of Order 66_

_Chandrilla, Core region_

Autumn leaves tumbled around them as the pair of them rolled down the hill together. Small animals, disturbed by the pair of tumbling bodies, made startled noises and vanished further into the undergrowth.

Above them, a huge and hairy figure roared with laughter, bouncing down the slope in great leaps and bounds to catch up and join them both at the bottom. He carried two bandoliers, wearing one and holding the other in an outstretched hand, the heavy weight throwing his centre of balance around as he leapt down after them both.

At the bottom, their inertia spent, Srah and Gyyhuunamung came to a halt, tangled in each others arms and laughing hysterically at how silly they must have looked to anyone else that had been watching them.

Rhyydonning came to a stop beside them, adding his own booming laugh to theirs and resting his hands on his knees as he tried to recover his breath between hoots of laughter. After a minute it looked like the three of them might recover, before Gyyhuunamung chortled slightly too loud and they collapsed once more into hysterics.

It continued in such a manner for several minutes, huge peals of laughter from the two Wookiees and their human friend pausing only for a few seconds on occasion as they recovered their breath, before one of them would start the whole process off again.

Eventually, worn out beyond the ability to do more than chuckle, the three of them collapsed in the leaves, Rhyydonning abandoning his brother's bandolier nearby as he slumped down beside the other two.

"That was really silly," Srah informed the pair of them eventually, trying to appear a bit more authoritative than her current disposition allowed her to pull off successfully.

[You insist on playing such games,] Gyyhuunamung reminded her, reaching up to lovingly tousle her hair as he did. For a moment their eyes met, and lingered, before he jerked forward, landing a lick-kiss on her cheek before rolling away and pulling himself laboriously to his feet.

She grunted, not entirely in annoyance, as she wiped her cheek on the sleeve of her jacket, pulling herself to her feet as well. Rhyydonning treated her to a pitiful look and made gestures indicating that he needed a hand up.

Not fooled for a moment, but in a good enough mood to be willing to forgive her potential brother-in-law for his laziness, she grabbed his hand and hauled, nearly pulling herself over in the process as the more massive Wookiee lumbered slowly upright.

Both Wookiees towered over her, their greater size and physical strength being something that had originally drawn them together. Their physical similarity, coming from the fact that they were twins, extended to the patterning of their hair and musculature, and it had been of immense value when pulling scams to have two figures that no one could tell apart around, especially when they came from a species that had recently started being sold into slavery.

Srah could tell them apart of course; different temperaments had crept into them, and her talent for the Force, however unfocused, was enough for her to pick up on the differences in their mentalities. Even if it hadn't been for Gyyhuunamung's strong feelings for her, echoing her own in return, she would have easily told them apart.

Gyyhuunamung had got as far as their speeder, and was sitting on the bonnet, tuning the strings on his yhitto as the other two staggered over the join him. The main drum-like body rested on his lap while the strings extended out from the centre like the spokes of a wheel, starting long and spiralling inwards as they swept around the body, until the last, and shortest, string was right next to the longest one. The little handle for winding up the internal motor lay untouched, and the ornate multi-pick rested in its holder, leaving Gyyhuunamung using only his claws for plucking at the strings.

That mastery of the musical instrument native to Aounam was one of the major differences between the two brothers; Rhyydonning couldn't carry a tune to save his life, and only the most basic of his brother's refrains stuck in his memory. Rhyydonning's greater mastery of visual arts compensated nicely for this though.

As the other two settled down, pulling the food out of the packs on the speeder's back seat, Gyyhuunamung began to sing, the air a Wookiee love song, rescored for the yhitto and the tempo shifted to a slower pace. It was a wandering tale, one that Srah had liked when she heard the original version and had loved once Gyyhuunamung had applied his brand of magic to it. He had practically dedicated it to her the first time he had sung it, drawing a crowd in the spaceport despite the late hour.

Now he sang it again, with only the three of them to hear it, in the glowing sunlight above a field of tumbling leaves.


	8. Chapter 4

_Approaching Close Orbit around OR-347-229v_

_Primary world: Yehgast_

"_Srah, you awake_?"

Srah shook herself, and glanced around. Rhyydonning had stopped humming, and was looking at her with a slightly bewildered concern.

_He didn't even know he was humming_, she thought to herself, before nodding. "I'm fine Rafe. Just getting a bit bored over here."

"_Well now would be a good time to wake up_," Rafe replied. "_We're about two minutes out from orbit of Yehgast._"

Srah nodded again, despite him not being able to see her, and then looked up sharply at the main controls. Gates was sitting in the pilot's seat once more, studiously ignoring her. "We're going into orbit?"

"_There's already a freighter there that seems to be scouting around_," Kyle replied. "_They ducked around behind the far side of the planet a couple of minutes ago, just before we started decelerating into orbit. We'll be in contact about a minute after we make orbit_."

Srah frowned, and stood, coming to stand behind Gates. "We've given up on secrecy then?"

"_Whatever the Eye is, it's moved on_," Kyle declared. "_And it seems to have taken everything else with it_," he added sourly.

Srah glanced down at the sensors, and shuddered. There were high energy readings coming from the surface of Yehgast, all consisted with large scale destruction, fires, and the total loss of civilisation from the surface of a world.

As they swung into a fast orbit, Srah heard Rafe murmuring the funeral rites of Aounam, a fairly generic, but heartfelt, request to the universe to take better care of those that had died now that they were dead than it had when they were alive. Almost unconsciously, she found herself murmuring along with the words, stumbling over the half-remembered phrasing from her childhood.

When the pair of them had finished, Rhyydonning spoke up. [This world? How many lived here?]

"Official estimates are not very good," Gates replied. "However they indicate the population to have been approximately two billion." For once his normally supercilious tone was muted, as if he recognised the emotional potential of this situation.

"_Two billion dead, because someone thought that we were on this world_," Rafe said slowly. "_Whatever this Eye is, we need to stop it_..."


	9. Chapter 5

**The Palace of the Dead**

_5 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Neuook, Outer Rim Territories_

Something that you picked up early in a spacer career was the differences between the worlds that you visited. And you could tell a lot about those worlds by the way that they handled space traffic.

Worlds like Coruscant, packed to the limit and beyond with the largest possible population that they could sustain – and that population relying almost entirely on imported foodstuffs just for the essentials – tended to place their spaceports in one of two locations; the elite had landing platforms for their personal ships, whilst the larger spaceports were situated as picturesquely as possible on top of areas where the population knew better than to object to the constant traffic.

Yehgast had handled such traffic by building extra-large landing pads and runways onto a handful of the disproportionately prevalent airports; most worlds had so such airspeeder traffic that airports were useless, but the more low-tech Yehgast had enough atmosphere-only craft that it made sense to have dedicated facilities for the aircraft and add the spaceships on as an afterthought.

Jorrie on the other hand, relied on space traffic enough that they weren't able to ignore the problem of where to land ships. With their limited space though, only craft that took up little room could be allowed access, and these ships and their crews were normally required to obey some very solid restrictions for the duration of their stay.

It was therefore possible to tell quite a bit about a world from their spaceports, and the way the locals reacted to their presence.

On Neuook, the spaceport was a series of ill-defined landing pads, each enclosed by a fence composed on giant rib-bones embedded a metre into the ground and sticking up far enough that they had towered over Rhyydonning when the Wookiee had stopped to consider them. The entire spaceport, including the ramshackle affair that was the control tower, was surrounded by a set of what appeared to be more rib bones, but turned out to be local stone carved into the shape of ribs and plated with stainless steel. Each of the metre wide gaps between the ribs was blocked by a force field set to give the maximum possible shock to anyone touching it, and additional security was provided by a set of hovering sentry droids, each equipped with a ragged grey robe that fluttered heavily in the desert wind and gave the droids the impression of being ghosts.

This overemphasis on death symbols in a desert world that dried you out in a matter of hours if you weren't careful, had not given Kyle a good impression of this world the first time he had visited it. The two kilometre trek to the nearest city, through valleys that were lined with the tomb markers of the natives, didn't help matters.

Now, riding on top of an old Czerka Corporation Light Tracked Transport, Kyle got another look at the city.

It was a somewhat grim affair, with the rib-fence style continued here, with massive stone ribs, carefully inlaid with the bones of the dead to give them a greater authenticity, standing proud against the desert winds and storms. With wood and metals in short supply on a world like this, brown stone stood between the ribs, blasted smooth to give a carving storm gale nowhere to get a grip on it. The entire wall extended twenty metres into the air, the jagged ends of the ribs sticking up another five beyond that, forming a stockade against the rest of the universe, and presenting an even more daunting visage than the mountains that provided a grim backdrop for them.

The city gates were a comparatively small offering, barely intended to take vehicles such as the LTT, as they had been built by the locals rather than those who had settled on this world. Thick and solid, they opened outwards, and could be swung shut against the outside at a moment's notice. The wall around the door was decorated with the only kind of decoration that the locals seemed to understand; depictions of the skulls and skeletons of various species were cut from steel and arranged, as if dancing, across the arch above the gateway.

Kyle had originally found this preoccupation with death to be disturbing on his first trip to this world, and had almost decided never to return; such a preoccupation with death symbols was normally a sign of the Dark Side, and it had taken him a while to understand that the locals did not place significance on the death itself, but on the continuation of the spirit; even the few of the locals that had become Jedi and then attained a spirit form after their death only came back as skeletons, or floating skulls, rather than their original form. There had been a lot of it wound up about the locals believing the bones to be the resting place of the spirit and soul rather than the heart as many species did, but Kyle had given up around then. Knowing that there was no diret Dark Side connection to it had been enough for him.

Now he was returning, as he always did, on business. His own business was stored in the LTT, alongside what little Srah had been able to pull together in order to try and appease Atraas the Hutt over her late delivery.

The LTT was a pint-sized variant of the Czerka Multi-Environment Tracked Transport, more commonly known as a Sandcrawler, and the spaceport had retained two dozen of them on loan, the bronze bodywork of each of the three metre high vehicles decorated with the skeletal images of figures from local mythology that were famed for travel and trade.

Riding on top was something that Kyle had decided to do primarily because it represented a way of getting away from others. It wasn't that uncomfortable; clad in light trousers and a well secured jacket, covered by a sandy coloured poncho, he was protected against the heat and wind well enough. Gloves had been deemed essential and one similar to those worn by fighter pilots had been located. Goggles had also been located and were worn, along with a scarf that had been wrapped around his head in the style of the natives, leaving only a hint of skin for the blazing sun to touch directly.

He sat, occasionally clinging to the rail that edged the LTT's roof as it swayed precariously on the uneven road, and watched as they slowly moved towards the city. He was considering the twist of fate that had led them to land in the middle of a local pilgrimage to a nearby shrine; a line of vehicles like their own stretched all the way to the city gates, bringing them to a nearly dead stop, except for a brief flurry every few moments when everyone moved forwards a few metres.

In the cab, Srah and Gates were handling the driving, accompanied by the three fine examples of hired muscle that had apparently been provided by Atraas to assist her. Srah had insisted on driving, and Kyle hadn't objected.

They had all reacted differently to the fall of Yehgast. Kyle's own reaction had been one of shock, and a hint of fear. He hadn't truly realised how dangerous the Eye could be, and had almost denied it to himself. Now that he had seen the effect that it could have on the physical world as well as the Now, genuine concern was mounting in his mind.

Rafe's reaction had been more reserved, since he had already known what they were going to see, and thought he had felt the deaths more closely, he had had a greater chance to process that loss. He had also been more open in his thinking about what the Eye might have been capable of, and so the shock of it had been further diminished on that count. Even so, he had spent the time on route to Neuook meditating and in contemplation.

Srah had been more pragmatic about things, at least on the surface. Kyle had formed the image of a confident young woman, her good looks aiding her naturally authoritative air. That Rafe obviously had feelings for her was something of a surprise, and the natural effect of this attraction, Kyle suspected, would have been to enhance her normal standing; being able to turn the head of a Jedi like that would have been an impressive trick. That confidence and sense of being in control must have been shaken greatly by the shock of what had happened on Yehgast, though only a Jedi could have known it; she hid her feelings well, and it was only in a couple of careless moments that her true feelings made it as far as her face.

The hired muscle had been concerned, but given the delays that they had apparently suffered, they were more concerned with getting back to Atraas rather than worrying about bigger threats. Kyle had lost his temper with them on the way to Neuook, and it was only a matter of necessity that he was even on the same vehicle as them at this point.

Srah's ongoing companions had been a different matter. The droid had kept quiet, though Kyle had recognised the non-verbal signals that suggested he was less than happy with the way everyone was moping around and being worried all of the time. Kyle hadn't mentioned this to anyone; they would most likely have blasted the droid on the spot.

Rhyydonning had been a more peculiar case. He had obviously cared about what had happened, but his concern had seemed distant somehow, and what concern he voiced had upset Srah a lot more than Kyle would have suspected that it should.

Tetee, the Mon Calamari slicer, had barely acknowledged the event, listening to what had happened with a semi-lucid coherence, before moving onto other stories and snippets of information. Her casual disregard for what had happened had upset Kyle quite a lot, and even Srah's assurance that nothing penetrated the slicer's almost drugged state of mind, had barely kept him from physically assaulting her for her lack of feeling. Jedi training or not, there were some things that it was hard to take lying down.

Sthyyn had been the only bright point in Srah's team. The Rodian had, it turned out, a spiritual bent to him. He had admitted, somewhat shyly, to some religious training prior to leaving his homeworld, and had performed the last rites in an open service in the _Vagrant Soul_'s lounge. Both Jedi had attended, along with Srah and Rhyydonning. It had been a moment of calm, and one of the brightest points of the entire event.

Kyle pulled himself back to the present as the LTT lurched forward again, hitting a slight rise that gave him a better view of the line before them, and the gates of the city.

Those gates gave him pause. The decoration hadn't changed, aside from a couple of extra skulls that he considered might be new. But now he saw why the line was taking so long getting through the gate.

"We've got a blockage," he called into his comlink. "It looks like the Empire has opened up a checkpoint at the city gates."

As Srah scrambled up beside him, he considered that actually 'a checkpoint' might be understating the matter somewhat. Perhaps a dozen clones were arranged around the gates, while an AT-PT and a pair of AT-RTs loomed over the proceedings. Several non-cloned individuals in naval uniform were nearby, overseeing the clones as they searched the vehicles going through the gates and checked paperwork.

Srah brought a set of electrobinoculars up with her, focusing them on the checkpoint and making upset sounding noises as she checked different parts of it. "Are they likely to recognise you?" she asked Kyle, not looking up at him.

"Probably not," Kyle commented. "Records about Seekers were never kept with those of regular Jedi in case we sullied them somehow," he explained, the sarcasm worn out of his tone by long repetition. "And they can't have had the chance to get the entire personnel record archives out to the Outer Rim yet. I'd be more concerned about them recognising you right now," he added, turning it into a not too subtle verbal jab at her.

She merely nodded, rather than reacting overtly, and kept watching the checkpoint. Then abruptly, her sense flared, an instant before she swore out loud. Thumbing the comlink attached to her collar, she called to the rest of their team. "Rafe! In the middle of the checkpoint, there's a lieutenant, he's not a clone. Tell me that he isn't holding what I think that he's holding..."

* * *

From the ridgeline behind the LTT, Rafe wiped the dust from his goggles and held a pair of electrobinoculars up to them. Beside him, Rhyydonning growled a question, which Rafe ignored as politely as he could; Shyriiwook was a language that Rafe had never had occasion to learn, and even Rhyydonning's efforts at speaking Basic were badly mangled enough that Rafe hadn't understood them.

Rafe had settled on a set of hardwearing clothes for this outing, and though the principles were the same as those that Kyle wore, his own has a slightly less civilised, not to mention less borrowed, look to them; they were his own, rather than hired as Kyle's were. His clothing was a similar shade to the stone and sand around him, and the goggles were all-weather rather than second-hand and designed to only handle the dust as the rest of the group's were.

He and Rhyydonning were perched on one of the ridgelines that marked the end of a set of tomb valleys, paired off largely for Rafe's ability to use the Force and Rhyydonning's sharp eye with the rail-rifle that he now carried. Technically they were meant to be keeping an eye out for trouble, though no one had specified a possible source as such. Srah had simply insisted, and no one had bothered to object.

Already they had been passed by several locals; stick-like figures, dried out and withered from the heat and lack of water, they almost looked like animated skeletons. The group had apparently been locals rather than pilgrims, moving around the tombs in the rock face below Rafe's position, and had seemed set to scold Rafe and Rhyydonning for a moment before giving up and moving on. They had been accompanied by a trio of small floating droids the size of a human head, each made up to resemble ghosts with long and ragged grey robes draped across them. The twinkle of a blaster barrel extending from beneath the cowl of one of the grey robes had convinced Rafe that these droids were not simply for show however.

The view through the electrobinoculars flickered as he focused quickly on the checkpoint, and then the image stabilised.

The angle he had on the checkpoint was different to Srah's: the angle was higher and from further to the left, allowing him to see the arrangement around the vehicle currently being searched more clearly. For a moment he searched around, not focusing particularly on any one factor as he took the view in. Then he spotted what he guessed Srah had hoped that he wouldn't find.

"_Sheig_ it," he muttered angrily. "Pull back. Get yourselves out of there. Now!"

* * *

Inquisitor Srael stood in the shade of the gateway, his arms folded and his expression studiously intense. The burnished black of his armour appeared like a floating shadow, visible only by the reflections off its surface. A long metal stave was attached, magnetically, to the back-plate of his armour, both ends tipped with twenty five centimetre long vibroblades.

He was not physically involved with the efforts of the clones or the other naval personnel that were now involved, as they checked the incoming vehicles and pilgrims. He was largely there in an authoritative capacity, to keep the locals from causing too much trouble; the Convocation had not be at all happy about a Star Destroyer taking up temporary residence in their solar system, and the Death Watch had been unhappy with the clones overstepping their authority and beginning searches of citizens at major checkpoints. Only the presence of an Inquisitor, his authentication signed by the Emperor himself, had kept a small war from breaking out. It was a war that the locals would have lost _very_ quickly, but it would have taken valuable time that Srael didn't want to waste.

It would also have given the game away quite significantly. Currently the _Stylite_ was hanging around the far side of Neuook's moon, waiting for his word to act. The presence of troops on the ground was as much to lull people into a false sense of security as anything; the troops served as a visible point to focus on, while the most important point was currently being wielded by lieutenant Tacha.

The Lieutenant was hesitant about using the device, despite the innocent appearance of it; two smooth silver discs were mounted on the end of short rods, and these were in turn connected by insulated wires to a pack that was held by a clone trooper. Those who asked were informed that it was a new type of scanner intended to locate potentially dangerous targets, and were then treated to additional checks for their curiosity. It was merely one of a dozen checks that were going on, and the local pilgrims were a forgiving group as far as such checks went.

Certainly Srael was not intent on drawing this out any longer than he had to, and the clones and other officers were under strict orders to keep things moving efficiently; they were hunting Jedi, not shaking the locals down.

He looked once more at the device, unfamiliar in its function, and yet so innocent.

* * *

Kyle frowned at the image being projected onto the lounge wall from the entertainment unit's holoprojector. The image was from Rafe's electrobinoculars, and both of the Jedi, along with Srah, were watching the footage.

"That device," Rafe said, indicating a small box being carried by a clone, attached to paddles wielded by a lieutenant.

"That's the one," Srah agreed. "I was hoping that I was wrong," she added.

"Would someone explain what that thing is?" Kyle asked impatiently.

"It's an old idea," Rafe explained. "Going back a long time. One of the regular ones that gets trotted out in an effort to replace, displace, or generally get rid of, the Seekers. You get crystals, normally thaissen ones, though any that are attuned to the Force will work. The general idea is that such crystals react to the presence of Force users, and that reaction can sometimes be measured. It might be an electrical signal being generated, or a motive force. Thaissen ones are usually used because they glow, and they glow different colours depending on how much a person dips into the Light or Dark side of the Force."

"So, these devices..."

"Are designed to detect an ability to use the Force in someone," Srah finished. "They wave those close to either of you, and they'd have spotted your talent instantly." She sighed. "So much for you getting into the city..."

"And you," Rafe informed her. "Your talent might not have been discovered in time for you to be trained, but these things won't be able to tell the difference. You go too close to those detectors, and you'll be shot as a potential Jedi on the spot."

Srah cast a sharp glance at him, then shuddered, clearly realising how close she had come to walking into that; if Rafe and Kyle hadn't been there she might not have thought twice about the presence of the detectors. By now she would be dead, or captured.

"How do you pair know about these things?" Kyle asked. "And why haven't I heard about them before?"

"We've heard about them because there were a couple of these things in the museum on Aounam," Rafe replied. "Along with all sorts of other things like defunct holocrons, ancient scrolls, old models of toys that responded to the Force... You've never heard of them because the Order wanted to avoid this very situation; up until now you needed to be able to use the Force to detect a Force user that didn't want to be found, whereas now, we've got regular troops that can do it. At least it is only troops so far, and not criminals. That was always the big worry of course; Force users would fetch a pretty high price to anyone that could catch them, and there are enough crystals that are naturally attuned to the Force that someone who wasn't sensitive to the Force could build one of these detectors."

"What about replacing the Seekers though?" Srah asked. "I knew that they made these things, but why didn't someone push for them to actually be used? Even covertly?"

Rafe shrugged. "Same problem; you don't want people knowing it's possible. Also, these detectors don't work over more than about half a metre's range."

"Oh come on," Kyle objected. "I've seen some Force-attuned crystals that could react visibly when a Jedi came within ten metres of them."

"Yeah," Rafe responded. "And most of those are part of some larger setting, even if it doesn't actually look like they are. There are entire caves that have been constructed around a single crystal, but take either away, and the other is useless. The only ones that are actually portable are in the hands of the Order. Do you want to try breaking into a null vault without the right keys?"

Kyle looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment, as if considering it. Then shook his head. "Not likely," he decided. Null vaults were rare – he hadn't even been aware that the Order had one at all – and so far there had never been a recorded case of someone breaking into one. They were damned expensive though, meaning that only the richest of the rich could afford one, which made the Order owning one a bit odder given that all of its members were meant to live frugally. They were however, guaranteed to do serious damage to their contents, and anyone trying to break into them, if they were improperly opened. Which given that the Order retained copies of Sith texts for reference purposes, actually made the null vault seem slightly more likely; you didn't want documents like that falling into the wrong hands.

"Exactly," Rafe continued, his statement echoing Kyle's response and his line of reasoning disconcertingly. "So anyone building one of these would need to rely on crystals that were readily available, especially if they were building them secretly. On top of the other limitations, it was pointed out that even if you used these things, and assuming that you didn't offend people too strongly by going around and waving one over every newborn from Coruscant to the Rim, you'd need about fifty million of them to properly replace the three hundred and sixty Seekers that were active at the time. There's no way that you can run something like that covertly. The major advantage of the Seekers is that we can do our job without having to be right inside someone's house to check on them; we can pick up potential Jedi from most of the way across the galaxy. And if all else fails, they'd have needed to work out what to use Seekers for if we weren't actually looking for potential Jedi. It _was_ pointed out that at least we were reasonably safe doing what we were doing."

"Okay, the politics of the Jedi Order aside, what does this actually mean?" Srah asked.

"It means that we can't risk the front entrance," Rafe said bluntly. "And that's a problem, because if they've got any sense they'll be keeping track of people that are inside the city limits as well. So we've not only got to get the cargo to Atraas without going through the main gates, but without being seen inside the city as well..."

"Well," Srah said with a certain amount of satisfaction, "_that_ at least won't be a problem."

* * *

A short way out into the desert, halfway along a twisting set of tomb valleys, deep in a crevice that even the locals hadn't seen fit to use for burying people in, there was a crack in the rock. Nothing more than a crack, and nothing to show that the area was anything usual.

Unless you were a Jedi of course.

"We were just pinged again," Kyle muttered, looking around suspiciously as the five of them slipped down the valley, clambering over rocks and boulders that lay strewn around the valley floor.

Srah nodded absently, not bothering to look around. "They've probably got sentries all around this place. It's not like they want to advertise that it's here or something."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed cautiously. "But I only get this kind of feeling from someone aiming a weapon at me normally," he added.

Srah merely smiled back at him, and then stopped, seemingly at random in the middle of the valley. She looked around for a minute, and then sighed. "Come on guys... I know that you're still here," she added accusingly.

For another moment there was silence, and then an apparition appeared.

It rose seemingly from nowhere, as if it floated up out of the rocks themselves. The shape was bulbous, and mostly translucent, with only what appeared to be a skeletal structure inside it. But unlike the local skeletons, it wasn't a humanoid one; a flattened head sat on top of a massive ribcage, and a spine that seemed to merge into a tail wavered in the air behind it. Almost spectral material glowed faintly around it, forming the image of a flabby form. The entire thing was nearly three metres long, and rose with a flowing grace that seemed quite unnatural when compared to the overall shape.

For a moment, Kyle was taken aback; this was clearly not a local creation, as their ghosts always took the form of humanoid skeletons, and were always stick-thin like the natives themselves. They never bothered to coat their skeletal creations with flesh, and certainly never bothered to make anything so inhuman.

For a moment Kyle found himself drawn back into his past, to a memory of facing a monster like this; a dark side spirit, conjured by a fleeing enemy to cover his escape. Back then he and Master Sei'lar had been almost unable to stop the spirit, and the thought of going through the same process again, even with Rafe to back him up, was disturbing. Almost without thinking about it, his Lightsabre was in his hand, and nearly ignited before Rafe grabbed his arm.

"It's a droid," he assured Kyle, though not sounding entirely certain about that, and treating it to a nervous look.

"It is," Srah assured them both. "Atraas' idea of keeping in touch with the locals. There are more of them in his palace," she added, before addressing the ghostly droid. "Come on. You know me, don't you?"

The ghostly figure seemed to consider them, and then nodded slowly, before sinking down into the ground once more. Kyle recovered enough to leap onto a rock, getting a better view of the apparition as it vanished, but didn't manage to catch a proper look as it vanished behind a boulder.

"That is freaky," Kyle commented, as several sections of rock rolled silently aside, revealing the entrance to a tunnel. "I had no idea he was into the local death cult symbology."

"Oh, come on," Srah said, smiling as he led the way into the tunnel. "You've worked for Atraas before haven't you? You told me that this wasn't your first job for him either."

The tunnel that they had entered started out as a solidly build durasteel affair, with the mechanics of the doorway barely concealed behind plating. Quickly though, the metalwork was replaced by more natural looking stonework, and the pairs of glowpanels were replaced by a more local kind of lighting: skulls from various donor races that had been lying on the ground rose in front of them, flames bursting from within them and illuminating the passageway with their flickering light.

"I never actually met him," Kyle objected, eying the skulls warily as he ducked around them. "All of my business with him, aside from our first meeting on Jorrie, was done through other people. This last job was commissioned on his behalf by a Twi'lek. The time before that it was through a Human. I've never managed to meet him properly, face-to-face."

"Well, I've met the slug a few times," Srah replied. "He's okay. He's younger than most of the mob boss types, and a lot fitter. I've never been able to tell if that's because he's genuinely fitter, or because he's just drying out with the rest of this world."

"Probably a bit of both," Rafe commented. "I don't have much experience of Hutts, but I do know that their mythology elevated them to a kind of honorary godhood; something to do with surviving their homeworld's devastation meaning that they were blessed. Everything that I've heard tends to carry on that view."

Kyle kept quiet, thinking to himself, as they continued down the tunnel. The skulls had run out after a while, but the last four had silently swung around, two in front and two behind the three of them. These continued to light their way as they moved further through the tunnel, which quickly turned into tunnels as they began to encounter side passages, and forks in the stonework.

Down a couple of them, Kyle heard scampering feet, noises of people moving aside and trying to hide. A ragged curtain was thrown hastily across a small alcove as they approached, the edge twitching aside enough for a small head with wide, curious, eyes to stare out at the three of them. Down one of the passages a set of crates were being moved around by ASP droids, both the droids and crates unmarked and anonymous, but guarded by one of the local wraith-droids.

"You're staring," Srah warned him in a sharp whisper when a wraith-droid uttered a low hiss at them.

"I didn't think I was," Kyle objected, his eyes darting between the wraith-droids.

"Casting more than a sideways glance counts as staring in a place like this," Srah assured him. "Eyes front, and we might make it through here..."

The tunnel continued onwards, and they were forced to follow it, guided by the floating skulls. Kyle's estimates of distance walked were limited, though his sense of direction, honed by practise flying through asteroid fields during master Zane's lessons in focus and reflexes, was exceptional. He knew that they had been heading away from the city for a short distance, but now were heading back towards it. Beyond that fact however, he was lost, unable to guess how far they had gone.

It was when Rafe began to look around expectantly that he started to wonder when they would arrive; Rafe's backwoods skills not only gave him a greater sense of direction, but a better ability to judge distance when walking or hiking. Thus, he was not surprised when they began to pass hovering wraith-droids, and the architecture became more defined; stonework remained a major part of it, but it now became wider and featured frescos and sculptures. They were mostly in the local styles, of skeletal figures and ghostly shapes. A couple of them, Kyle quickly spotted, were more than just sculptures; real weapons, cleverly disguised, were built into the figures and statues, and even the most careful sculpting couldn't hide the joints.

Rafe stopped just short of one set of statues. Kyle walked on a few steps before realising that his fellow Jedi had stopped, and turning to look at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked. Rafe was standing, his eyes half-closed, as if listening for some almost unheard sound.

"Can't you hear it?" Rafe asked, concentrating harder. "It's almost there... Like music... A tune..." He laid his hand gently against the wall, his fingers tapping softly, almost at random, against the stone as he tried to reproduce what he was hearing. "You can't hear it?" he asked as he seemed to find his rhythm, the taps becoming more definite as he sounded out the pulse of the music.

"I can't hear anything," Kyle said slowly, trying to work out what Rafe was hearing.

Then he began to pick it up; a faint echo of the refrain that Rafe was tapping out on the stone. The echo was deeper though, seeming to come from somewhere else, as if drawn into the open by Rafe's attempt to mimic its theme. There was something almost primal about the sound, which quickly filled the tunnel, its complex beat and subtle shifts surging forth to saturate the air.

Kyle looked around, his senses tingling incessantly, his training almost screaming at him that something bad was happening here, that he ought to do something; whatever this music was, it came through the Force, and the Dark Side wove itself around the sound. Yet those same senses that warned him of danger were overwhelmed, almost silenced, by the music as it poured over and around them-

Rafe tore his hand away from the wall, the all-pervading sound cutting off with a sharpness that took Kyle's breath away.

"Okay, _I_ felt that one," Srah objected, leaning against the wall and glaring at Rafe. "What exactly was that?"

Rafe had clenched his hand into a fist, but even then it seemed to move of its own accord, gently trying to follow the rhythm that now hung in their memories. Grasping it with his other hand, Rafe shook his head. "Something powerful. I sensed it when he began to approach the palace. As for what it was... I can't honestly remember hearing about anything like that."

"It seems to have stopped now," Kyle said, looking around, and finding little to reassure himself in the process; when they stopped the four fiery skulls that had guided them had stopped as well, and now hovered there, glaring sightlessly at the three of them. It was disconcerting, trying to meet the gaze of those blank eye sockets.

"That it does," Rafe agreed. "And it bears looking into if we stay here for any length of time," he added. "Something like that doesn't just hang around and go off at random; it deliberately shut itself off when I stopped, and that means that there was probably some kind of intelligence involved in it."

"Wonderful," Kyle muttered. "Any ideas about what we should look for? I mean, we're already looking for a giant planet-killing eye."

"Given the way that Hutts normally collect bits of random junk? Any semi-precious artefact that Atraas picked up could be trouble waiting to happen if it was of Sith origin," Rafe declared. "We'll just need to keep our eyes open. Lead on," he said, to Srah, gesturing down the tunnel.

They moved more cautiously now, heading down the tunnel with half an eye for further surprises. None came though, and Kyle began to suspect almost that the experienced had been entirely imagined; it seemed somehow surreal, unlike anything that his training had prepared him for. A direct assault by the power of the Dark Side he could understand, but something about that strange music had caught him off-guard.

Srah obviously felt it as well, moving cautiously and with a hint of nerves that had not previously been present. Something of the side-on nature of the attack had clearly spooked her, in the same way that the Eye had done as well; she was, despite the limited training that she professed to have received, powerless against such an attack. Had it been she that had heard the music and begun to tap out its beat, Kyle doubted that she would have been able to stop herself.

The skulls had seemed unperturbed by the events, or their conversation, and led them quickly to a hexagonal antechamber, the walls floor and ceiling roughly carved from stone, except in the very centre of the floor and ceiling. More armed wraith-droids hovered around the corners of the chamber, not entirely unwelcoming, but far from comforting. In the centre of the floor was a raised area, a two metre wide dais, marked with a variety of symbols. In the ceiling above it was a matching surface, smooth, and clearly machined.

"This is the back door, right?" Rafe said, eying the platform warily.

Srah looked down at the platform, and nodded. "Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just that I recognise a few of these symbols as being from Sith iconography," Rafe said as he stepped onto the platform. "Not very well arranged, but still... Bad taste for someone who knows what they mean and doesn't believe in it."

Kyle stepped up more hesitantly, looking down at the symbols as he did. He might not have given them a second glance if Rafe hadn't mentioned anything, but now he found himself recognising a couple of them, and wishing that he didn't. The symbols were familiar to all too unfriendly memories, that he had no desire to bring up any time soon.

"You seem fairly confident about going on this thing," Srah said as she stepped onto the platform beside them both.

"Firstly, whoever put these symbols here didn't really understand what they were doing, but knew enough to string the basic grammar together; the general theme is rising, ascension, that sort of thing. Secondly, if you take a look above us," he added, his gaze flickering to a point somewhere above the ceiling, "you'll notice that we're directly beneath the main chamber. And the only danger I'm sensing right now is from these symbols, and even then it's vague and fairly formless."

"You know, I remember a time when you were trying to be mysterious about this stuff," Srah said wistfully. "You didn't used to just explain it like that."

"What can I say? You're a bad influence," he replied with a wry smile as the ceiling above them cracked silently open, and the platform that they stood on rose silently upwards.

The main audience chamber was a grand affair, done mostly in the Hutt style, but with local iconography rather than the usual sort; the ribs of the massive domed roof were huge curved bones, the pillars were local stone, carved into the likeness of a serpent's skeleton spiralling up them. The lighting for the chamber was provided by a series of flaming torches around the room, the torches and their mountings carrying the familiar skull-and-bone style. Normally, some kind of plants would have been present, though on Neuook the plants tended to be either lichen-like, which even Hutts found hard to make attractive, or sufficiently mobile and aggressive to run down the native fauna. As such, the only plants around the chamber were a pair of cacti from off-world, and a set of mechanical vines, whose green shading came from their high copper content.

Other than this it was a fairly standard style; the large dais at one end, with seating, alcoves and access ways around the other three walls. The main floor was an open area, though the segmented floor could clearly be raised in various areas to form seating and tables; an expensive toy, for showing off to guests and potential business associates, much like the back door lift that rose silently into the middle of the floor, at the very centre of the open space. Looking down, it was impossible to tell that the circular area wasn't actually a part of the floor; even the Sith symbols had vanished, the ink that they were drawn in no doubt visible in the chamber below only in response to non-visible light that flooded the chamber. Once again, a rich party trick.

A crowd of hangers-on, lowlifes, and business associates ringed the chamber, most of them almost as dried out as the rest of the natives. A few though, those rich enough to not care about flagrant wastage, had personal humidifier fields, or servants carrying casks of water. Even the short time that he had spent on this planet had shown Rafe how precious water was around here; no major oceans, only a few lakes in the more extreme latitudes, and the polar icecaps. A single humidifier field could provide all of the water that a local family needed for as long as its power supply held out, and with solar power being so easily available, that wasn't likely to happen quickly. Such brazen wastage of something that precious, as was going on in this room, was almost offensive to Rafe's sensibilities.

Atraas the Hutt sat, or slumped, or lounged, on the dais, his bulk distinctly less than that of a regular Hutt. He could almost be described, compared to most Hutts, as trim, or even athletic. His skin was dried out, despite the humidifier suspended from the skeletal arms of a wraith-droid that silently wafted around the Hutt's bulk. He wore something approximating a waistcoat, woven from the fibres of one of the more vicious local plants and inlaid with hardened steel in the shape of a skeletal hand on each breast.

As the platform carrying the three of them came to a smooth stop, Atraas shifted himself around – in any other Hutt the term 'heaved' would have been required to describe this action – and spread his arms in greeting.

"Welcome back Captain Srah Heid," he called out, his Basic well formed, though heavily accented, and very welcome to Rafe; perfectly at home with Basic, Danysh, or Bimmini, all languages spoken on Aounam, he was less certain of himself in the language of Hutts. He had picked up a couple of trade languages, as a matter of course, but even when travelling with Kyle, he had never had to speak with Hutts.

"And I extend welcome to your companions," Atraas continued, gesturing at Rafe and Kyle. "Though I only know one of them," he added, gesturing at Kyle. "I trust that your cargo has not been delayed unduly."

"Not at all," Kyle assured him. "It'll be along just as soon as captain Heid's people get it here."

"Excellent," Atraas rumbled. "I hope that the checkpoint at the city's entrances did not impede you too greatly."

"Not once we spotted them," Rafe answered for them. "Are you aware of why they came here?"

Atraas shook his head slowly, the fat around his shoulders wobbling in time to his motion. "They appeared almost from no where," he rumbled, "less than a day ago. Their ship, the _Stylite_, remained in orbit for long enough to drop off several assault shuttles, and then pulled back. To where, I have yet to discover. They claim to be searching for dissidents, and traitors, though their aim is clear; they seek to find you."

Rafe merely smiled at that one, deliberately ignoring the startled flash that passed across Kyle and Srah's senses. "And why would they be looking for us?" he asked, sounding quite confident, and with a hint of curiosity, to his own ears.

Atraas smiled, a hint of drool slipping out of the toothless maw before being snagged hungrily by his tongue. "Ah, why indeed?" he mused aloud. "I admit, I have suspected for some time now, and it was only the imperative manner with which you bypassed the checkpoints that confirmed my suspicions." He gestured to his left, and a spotlight came on, illuminating an alcove where a wraith-droid held two paddles attached to short rods, which were attached by a length of cable to a pack that hung from a strap around its shoulder.

"I acquired this some years ago," Atraas admitted. "And I confess, I was dubious about the merchant's claims when I did so. Having seen the clones using similar devices however, and how Kyle Reeves avoided them so keenly, I can only conclude that they are worth considerably more than I paid for it."

"Why am I the significant one there?" Kyle asked slowly, looking around a bit more nervously than Rafe had done.

"Why?" Atraas replied, as if it should have been obvious. "The Krayt Dragon station is known to me," he continued. "When the son of such as Reeves is taken to train as a Jedi, it is hard to hide."

Rafe frowned, not catching the reference to the Krayt Dragon. He did recognise where this was likely to be going though.

Confirming this, Atraas continued. "When I find another travelling with such as you, it can only be that they are a relative, or another Jedi. It was hard to prove, but the name of Rafe Belwynn is now not unknown to me, being so closely linked with that of Srah Heid." This time Srah started, her calm cracking for a second before returning. "And," he added, "I was surprised to find reference to her own talent for the Force."

"You seem quite well informed," Kyle murmured, settling into a stance that Rafe recognised as being one Kyle favoured for preparing for action; his hands were loose at his sides, the folds of his jacket obscuring the blaster he wore on his belt, and rending it tricky for a hand to reach in and pull out a weapon quickly. For anyone unused to facing a Jedi, with their telekinetic abilities, this would seem relaxed and unguarded. To Rafe, who had been on the receiving end of it during some sparring sessions, it was enough to stir his own defences to readiness.

"It pays to know those that you work with," Atraas agreed. "And you will note that I have never used this against you; your jobs for me have always been legitimate."

"And never face-to-face," Kyle added darkly. "You didn't want me here."

"A wise move that my master has seen fit to ignore at this time," declared a voice from behind the three of them.

Rafe turned sharply, and found himself looking at a droid. It was of humanoid form, with less bulk than a 3PO droid, but taller for it, and with better designed motors; one of the arms rested loosely at its side, whilst the other held a two metre long staff, seemingly made from some form of marble-patterned obsidian, planted firmly on the floor in front of it. The head was clearly intended to be more lifelike as well, though the species it was intended to mimic was obviously not human; the lines suggested something more akin to a canine or equine ancestry that was common to the Bothan people. This impression was amplified by the presence of thin wires, seemingly serving no real purpose, which sprung from the top of the head, the cheeks, and below the jaw, giving the impression of fur or hair.

The droid wore a cloak, the rich material a brilliant red that shifted constantly even in the still air. The left side was thrown back over its shoulder, whilst the right was drawn around almost to cover half of its chest. The only other decoration on its burnished steel body was a set of locks of hair, genuine rather than wire this time, which hung like trophies from a bandolier.

It observed them for a few seconds, and then stalked around them, the staff tapping loudly in the suddenly still and silent air, its piercingly blue and disturbingly organic looking photoreceptors focusing on them constantly until it passed them.

"KU-NMC3," Srah muttered to the pair of them. "The major-domo," she added, with a hint of distaste.

"My master has previously seen fit to avoid direct contact with Jedi," the droid continued, its mechanical voice low and dangerous. Silence still pervaded the chamber, the guests that lined the walls and alcoves clearly considering this figure to be more dangerous to upset than Atraas. "With the fall of your Order however, he has decided to allow you into the palace." There was a clear layer of distaste in the droid's tone.

"There is no harm in allowing two Jedi in here," Atraas rumbled, clearly not entirely happy with the droid's attitude. "They will need somewhere to be now that the Order is gone."

"Might I remind you about the bounty on Jedi master?" the droid said, turning to face Atraas. "A worthy bounty indeed, placed by gangs as well as by the Empire."

"Bah!" Atraas declared loudly, flicking an irritated hand at the droid's shoulder and coming very close to catching it a blow that would have sent the droid reeling. "The _Empire_," the Hutt said, his tone dripping disdain, "is afraid of the Jedi. And the gangs? Hah!" The deep barked laugh rolled across the room like a shockwave. "What wouldn't a swoop or pirate gang want with a person capable of telling them when danger is coming? To them the Jedi are just new playthings, toys to help them make more money." He gestured towards the trio in the centre of the floor, and addressed himself to the chamber rather than just the droid. "These are not toys," he declared. "And I will have no bounty claimed for them. I have had good dealings with Kyle Reeves, and his family. And with Srah Heid also. They will be here as my guests."

A ripple of noise went around the chamber, most of it seeming to be in agreement with Atraas' declaration, though there was an undercurrent of discontent from some parts. The major-domo simply stood there, glaring at the three of them.

Things had gone well once the initial declaration of their status as guests had been made. Things had begun to move back into what Rafe suspected to be a more normal routine, with the three of them filtering off to one side while others took the centre of the floor.

* * *

Kyle's cargo, and Atraas' hired muscle had turned up, the first being warmly received and the second vanishing into the background almost instantly, merging with the other hired muscle that hung around to fill in the gaps.

The medical supplies that Kyle had been carrying on the _Long Shot_ were given a once over, and declared appropriate for the value paid for them. Atraas had insisted on deferring payment until his guests decided to leave, and Kyle had agreed with a hint of concern. Srah's gift of the Action IV had gone down well, and payment had been transferred to an account that Srah had provided.

It was whilst other people were doing business that other guests began to appear. Rafe managed to pick up that there was a floor show due, with refreshments of various kinds. He was told that Atraas made a regular habit of entertaining his guests in this manner though disregarded the normal Hutt tradition about large animals. Rafe wasn't certain whether this was a sign of good taste, or an issue with the amount of water such animals would require.

One thing that caught his attention quickly was the lack of musical accompaniment to these displays. Dancers of various kinds came and went, all deathly silent. A poet appeared, reciting a work that made use of three different languages, and was curiously lacking in rhythm. More exotic dancers, fundamentally glorified sex slaves, were brought on and put on a sensuous floor show, the humming of their own excited breathing the only sound that accompanied their act. As these dancers moved their acts towards specific targets – individuals that Atraas wished to thank for good deals, or to attract good deals from later on – a hologramist and another poet took to the floor, recounting the glorious victory of the Hutts in some ancient battle.

Throughout all of this there was the constant background chatter of the guests around the walls, the shouts and jeers at the floor show, and the cheers from what turned out to be a small gambling hall, just a short way down a passageway. But there was no music. No band, no singers, not even a pre-recorded tempo for the dancers to keep time to. And the dancers didn't keep time. They moved around each other with a fluid grace, but quite often they ended up having to side-step around each other as they avoided collision by the narrowest margins.

The most regular tempo in fact came from Atraas himself, who bounced gently to his own inner cadence for the most part, and then became more pronounced when a Rodian dancer, one of the more exotic ones, came up before his dais to continue her act.

It was a curious affair, especially to someone so used to the light and festivity of the Daneyee parties; their limited eyesight left them with a need for more vibrant colours, and the vibrancy of their music was elevated at the same time. Rafe had found parties elsewhere to be almost bland sometimes, but this took things to a different level; the physical vibrancy remained, but had somehow been dulled by the lack of the musical side of things.

His lack of understanding of the local culture, however much he might have picked up so far, was getting on his nerves, and it was with some relief that a temporary reprieve was granted by Atraas' strident call.

"Ah! Another honoured guest!" he called out, gesturing off to one side. Rafe and Kyle were standing together at this time, having somehow ended up at the front of the guests along that side of the chamber. They both turned to look at the point that Atraas was indicating.

A set of guests that had been crowding around a doorway had now moved back, forming a wide gap for this new guest to come through and descend to the main floor. He was clearly old, and whilst he didn't look entirely the worse for his age, there was a definite hint that he wasn't growing old entirely gracefully. His race was familiar, even if Rafe didn't have a name for it; Master Yoda had always been reticent about exactly what race he came from, as had the other members of it.

Lannik-like in his form, but with skin of a greenish-brown and tridactyl hands, this figure rode on a hover seat, something favoured by rich members of smaller species as a means of getting around easily and bringing themselves up to human head height in comfort. A short pole, perhaps a metre long and capped at both ends with a complex looking piece of wrought metalwork, rested on his lap with its ends of it sticking slightly over the sides of the platform.

It was his clothes that got Rafe's attention however; the style was almost identical to that worn by Master Yoda, though the robe was a shade of dark red rather than brown, and the entire affair was done in a much richer style than a Jedi would have used.

It was odd to see something that looked like a Jedi, and yet clearly couldn't be a Jedi, so calmly in a place like this. It was even odder for Rafe to sense a sudden, and very sharp, rise in tension from beside him. Kyle had taken half a step forwards, his stance one of combat readiness once more, and a subtle shift in the lining of his jacket telling Rafe that Kyle's Lightsabre had already been jerked at least partway out of its holster.

The hovering figure seemed to sense this as well, his gaze shifting from Atraas, who he had been heading for, over to Kyle and Rafe for a second. It was a passing glance to start with, but very abruptly became much more determined, and the hover seat swung around to face them both. A hand went down to grasp the pole on the figure's lap as if in readiness for an attack.

Rafe could feel the tension building in the air, and even the non-Jedi amongst the crowd began to pick up on it as well, as a silence fell across the chamber. A silence fell, broken by the faint scrape and hum of blasters and other weapons being readied.

Atraas looked from the hovering figure to Kyle and back again, seemingly as confused as everyone else by the sudden hostility. "What is this?" he asked, his voice failing to break the silence, and seeming to emphasise both it and the tension instead.

"Know each other, we do," the hovering figure declared, his eyes fixed on Kyle, and his grasp of Basic seemingly on the same level as Master Yoda's. Where Yoda's grammar came across as grandfatherly, almost humorous, this figure's voice was deeper, less cheerful, and decidedly less friendly.

"That we do," Kyle said, stepping clear of the crowd. "That we do, Tetri Url..."


	10. Flashback 4

_Eight years before the instigation of Order 66_

_Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Core region_

"Kyle!" The call echoed down the halls of the Temple, startling Kyle from his studies with its suddenness.

Those around him cast curious looks in his direction. Some of them were wondering what he might have done to deserve his name being shouted down the hallways in such a manner, whilst others wondered who it was that might be shouting it.

Kyle could tell from the voice who was shouting, but wasn't any more certain than they were about why his name was being shouted. There was a hint of anger to the voice, and though he wasn't able to think of anything that he had done which would provoke any kind of anger, a nervous flash passed through him.

He looked around at the entrance to the study circle just as Master Sei'lar stepped through it, his pace not slackening as he strode over to the desk that Kyle was working at.

"Master? What's wrong?" Kyle asked, noting that his Master's anger seemed more generalised than specific, or at least not directed towards Kyle himself.

Rather than answer directly, Master Sei'lar directed a question to Kyle. "Is your ship ready to fly?"

Kyle frowned. The _Long Shot_ was one of the sticking points between himself and most of the other Jedi in the Temple; a gift from his parents, delivered by one of their oldest friends, Master Mikhail Zane; Kyle's former Master before he had been transferred to the ranks of the Seekers.

Jedi were not meant to own such possessions, but it had been hard for the Council to force him to refuse it; Master Zane had been sufficiently prepared to quote a number of times in history where Jedi had owned ships of their own; Cay Qel-Droma's _Nebulon Ranger_ and the old Jedi Justice Cruisers had been merely a sample of it.

Thus, whilst Kyle was permitted to retain ownership of the YT-2400 freighter, he was required to keep it away from the temple, where it would attract less attention. It was also docked under Master Sei'lar's name, rather than his own, to ease matters further; Seekers had been dealing with issues like this for a long time, even if they rarely had to deal with the situation of a trainee Seeker being gifted a freighter.

"She's ready to go," Kyle responded, knowing better than to ask further questions. "I just need to call ahead to tell Red to start the pre-flight if you want to go somewhere."

"Then do so," Master Sei'lar replied brusquely. "We must move quickly. Come." Without waiting for a reply, Master Sei'lar turned and stalked rapidly out of the study circle.

Kyle hurried out after his Master, abandoning his notes in his haste. He had never seen Master Sei'lar so agitated before; his Master's sense was clearly elsewhere, his thoughts echoing loudly across the surface of the Force as he cast them rapidly athwart the Temple to some distant recipient. Kyle's minimal training in that area was insufficient to allow him to understand such a conversation that he was not a direct part of.

As he hurried, he pulled the comlink from his belt, signalling for Red to get in touch with him. The astromech had come with the ship, and was the only one of the droids on board it that hadn't had a memory wipe recently; his parents had developed an attachment to the droid, and had managed to impress a similar attached to Kyle onto it before passing it on to him along with the ship.

"Red? Come on Red, wake up," Kyle called into the comlink as he hurried along. After only a few seconds, the astromech whistled back at him. A lifetime of being around astromechs had left him reasonably capable of understanding the nuances of their language, though he found himself with a long way to go in some areas. "Yeah, I know," he replied, guessing at the thought behind the acrimonious tone. "Forget that for now. Master Sei'lar wants to go somewhere in a hurry. Start on the pre-flights so that we can get moving right away."

There was an affirmative, if concerned, whistle from the other end of the line, and Kyle broke it quickly, dashing to catch up with his Master. He was suddenly aware that whoever they were meeting, they were close by; the raw power that Master Sei'lar was using to converse with them telepathically had reduced during Kyle's conversation, and he was actually able to pinpoint the recipient himself with a bit of effort, so that it was no surprise to hurry around a corner onto a catwalk above one of the Temple's reception areas, and find someone waiting for them on it.

Two someones in fact, Kyle realised, though that only one of them had been communicating was not a surprise as such; the other was clearly a Padawan from the cut of his hair and clothing, even if Kyle didn't recognise him personally.

_Sithspit_, he thought vehemently to himself, hoping that this was going to be a quick encounter.

"Master Kenobi," Master Sei'lar greeted the person he had been conversing with. "I trust that you are ready to leave."

Master Kenobi nodded. He wore the traditional robes of the Jedi Order, and wore them well. He had however discarded the normal brown robe that went over the rest. "Assuming that you have some form of transport available," he replied.

Master Sei'lar glanced at Kyle, who nodded back in agreement. Master Sei'lar was slightly taller than Master Kenobi, but otherwise startlingly similar; their clothes were in the same cut, colour and style, their physical proportions were the same, and even the colour of their hair and eyes were the same. Master Sei'lar had more hair of course; Bothan fur was much more prevalent than Human hair, but even then it followed the same kind of style, where Master Sei'lar was growing a beard to rival that of Master Kenobi.

"We can leave immediately then," Master Sei'lar declared, gesturing towards the stairs.

Both Masters hurried off, leaving their students to jog to catch up, not exactly trying to avoid each other, but certainly not getting too close.

Kyle's own Knighthood had come just after he transferred into the ranks of the Seekers, which presented itself as an oddity since he was still following someone around as if he was their Padawan. This was, unfortunately, normal for Seekers, who used the normal ranks of the Jedi Order, but whose training took place in a less determinate manner; it was possible for a Jedi Master, whose talent for seeing the Now was discovered late in their career, to be apprenticed to someone a fraction their age.

Technically, as he ranked as a Jedi Knight, Kyle outranked Anakin Skywalker. In practise he knew that he would never be able to pull it off. Skywalker was a traditionalist in that way; Seekers were outside the normal run of things, and so their authority extended no further than their own Chapter.

There was another reason that Kyle would never try to pull rank on Skywalker, and that was a lack of desire to even acknowledge his existence.

"Kyle's ship will be ready for us when we reach the spaceport," Master Sei'lar explained as they hurried out of the temple. "With luck Url cannot be more than an hour ahead of us, and we will be able to catch him easily."

"An hour ahead won't help us much if his ship is faster than your Padawan's," Master Kenobi replied, gesturing towards an airspeeder. Clearly the two Masters had taken the responsibility of arranging different parts of their transport to... Wherever they were going.

Skywalker jumped to the airspeeder's controls, and Kyle noticed the pained expression that flashed across Master Kenobi's face at this act. He made no complaint however, leaping into one of the back seats. Master Sei'lar joined him there, leaving Kyle sitting in the front passenger seat, a situation he did not relish; he had served as Master Zane's pilot from a young age, and Master Sei'lar had adopted him into the same position when he came to Coruscant. Being in such a small vehicle that was so obviously being piloted by someone else was a trying experience for him at the best of times.

Skywalker proved to be every bit as hard to be a passenger for as Master Kenobi's expression had hinted; he drove recklessly, as if the presence of other traffic was a burden or insult to him, dodging other vehicles with a casual laugh and an increasingly small margin for error. Kyle could sense Master Kenobi tensing at every stunt, each one matched by Skywalker's smile flickering up a notch.

No word of complaint was made however, from either Master, both of whom were in quiet conversation for most of the flight. Kyle desperately wanted to know what could be so urgent that Master Kenobi would allow his Padawan to fly in this manner.

What was most annoying was that, as an expert pilot himself, Kyle could see that Skywalker was showing off, although neither Master might actually have realised it; split-second turns were delayed an instant longer than they needed to be, the airspeeder was swung out especially wide so as to nearly clip the roof of another that had been slightly slower in getting out of their way. Skywalker was being deliberately flashy; not enough to slow them down, but enough to get more of a thrill out of the ride.

The spaceport was normally nearly twenty minutes away from the Temple by airspeeder. Skywalker managed it in fifteen, sliding them into a parking bay sideways as he pulled the most rapid stop that the vehicle's design would allow.

Now Kyle found himself leading, followed very closely by Master Sei'lar, to the _Long Shot_'s bay.

The YT-2400 was a design based on standard Corellian engineering: a disc-shaped hull, with an independent cockpit. Like the YT-1300 the YT-2400 had the cockpit mounted on the side of the disc, although unlike the YT-1300 it lacked the additional prongs at the front, which reduced its cargo capacity somewhat. Kyle's parents had gotten around this by removing more of the cargo space for two weapon mounts and turning the ship into a patrol craft for their trading post. By law both of those weapons were locked down whilst the ship was docked, although Kyle knew full well that they could be unlocked at a second's notice.

Red already had the ship's ramp down and the engines were humming softly as the various astromechs brought the ship to readiness when the four Jedi arrived and hurried aboard. Kyle caught a despairing flash from Skywalker and a more generalised anxiety from Master Kenobi, but ignored both. Skywalker had been showing off, and now it was Kyle's turn.

Skywalker tried to angle for the pilot's seat as they reached the cockpit, but was thrown when he ended up in the co-pilot's seat instead; Kyle managed to grab the pilot's seat before the Padawan corrected his error, a grin on his face as he did. His parents had modified the cockpit at his uncle's insistence, since he was the one that did done most of the flying for the family, and had originally learnt to fly in a YT-1312, identical in every respect to the YT-1300 apart from the fact that everything was on the opposite side of the ship. Thus, the pilot's seat was not where it should have been in a YT-2400.

"What course should I set?" Kyle asked; it was a careful question, which respected the fact that as a learner it was not his place to question his Master's actions or ask unnecessary questions, whilst also prodding slightly about the fact that he had no idea what was going on.

"Make for the third outer orbital track," Master Sei'lar responded. "I will hopefully have our destination within the next few minutes."

Kyle hesitated for an instant, then carried on with the take-off procedure, getting steadily more confused.

* * *

Tastriff was a solar system that was almost unheard of in a galactic sense. Even the people of Coruscant would have for the most part denied knowledge of that world, even though many of them could not have survived without Tastriff's existence.

The system was almost unique in having six planets within the human-/ near-human-habitable band around the star. Each world had been heavily terraformed as Coruscant grew in power, and for thousands of years each of those worlds had diverted almost its entire output to Coruscant. Six worlds, seven moons, and fifty orbital facilities that dwarfed even the largest military outpost, all produced food almost exclusively, receiving in exchange for this a constant supply of materials for construction and repair, and anything else that they could ask for in order to keep growing more food.

Over three hundred heavy transports operated constantly on the three hour hyperspace journey between Tastriff and Coruscant, and between the different processing facilities in the Tastriff system. These ships varied in design and style and age, their owners finding that the concept of constant employment was a fine one, until you realised that it was genuinely constant: if the ships stopped for any length of time, Coruscant would begin to starve. The one thing that the people of Coruscant who understood how their world lived truly feared was not a direct assault by an enemy, but a siege that would cut off those supply lines. Plans were put forwards occasionally by radicals who feared an attack of this sort, but where never taken seriously. Coruscant would have to be put to siege and taken by a new authority before anyone would really appreciate the danger.

It was one of these transport ships, carrying the waste produce of a small fragment of Coruscant, that they had chased to Tastriff, and the shuttles from which they had followed to the third planet in the system.

Master Kenobi had deferred to both Kyle and Master Sei'lar on the matter of their destination. It made sense, since this was their intended purpose in being a part of this journey; most Jedi were taught detective skills as a normal part of their training, but even the greatest of the Jedi Investigators might call upon a Seeker for aid in finding something.

But their foe was a crafty one, as Master Kenobi had explained.

"Tetri Url is one of the librarians on Coruscant. His principle job has always been to look after the forbidden texts."

"Forbidden?" Skywalker asked with a frown.

Both of the Masters exchanged a look before Master Kenobi continued. "Over the centuries, certain documents, writings, holocrons, and so forth, all made by Sith or other Dark Siders, have fallen into the Order's possession. These can be anything from personal records, details about battles, shopping lists, up to full blown training manuals. Most of the latter are destroyed straight away, in order to prevent anyone abusing the information in them. Some however," he added guardedly, "are retained for reference purposes so that we can better identify if these practises are put into action at a later date.

"Tetri Url seems to have been spending more and more time with these documents recently," he continued. "He's been reported to be more grumpy, defensive, and dismissive of regular Jedi practises of late. The Sentinels have been busy with other issues recently, and so those of them on Coruscant haven't had time to speak to him about this. Master Joran'ala has been looking into the matter of several unusual transmissions however, and discovered the fact that several of these forbidden items have gone missing, including a holocron created by an unknown Darksider."

"How do you get from some unusual transmissions, to items missing from the Jedi Archives?" Skywalker asked.

"There are ways," Master Sei'lar assured him. "Tetri Url's disappearance from the Temple, coinciding with the disappearance of these items, and the transmissions indicating that transport was required from Coruscant to Tastriff, are too closely tied for Master Joran'ala's tastes however."

"He contacted me and asked that I look into the situation," Master Kenobi added. "We'll hopefully arrive on Tastriff shortly behind Tetri Url, and in time to question him about his motives."

Thus they had arrived on the third planet, and quickly found that the trail died out very abruptly.

"I thought that Seekers were meant to be able to find anyone," Skywalker commented snidely.

Kyle restrained a retort about the disruptive presence of people with a destiny. It was irritating, suddenly finding yourself unable to track down someone, when they should stand out to you like a beacon. Master Sei'lar was clearly having no more luck, and clearly had even less luck restraining his distaste as he hissed a warning at Skywalker.

"He has hidden himself," Master Sei'lar decided after a few more minutes of effort. "Clearly the documents that he has taken contain more than simply a shopping list, and he has spent his time with them well."

"Great," Skywalker said sarcastically. "So you can't find him?"

Master Sei'lar hissed again, looking sharply at Skywalker. "Perhaps, _Padawan_, you would be so kind as to share with us a vision of where he _will be_, since you so clearly dislike the idea of knowing where he is at this time."

Kyle hesitated for an instant; that had been dangerously close to insulting someone else's Padawan, which was a fairly serious matter amongst Jedi, since it reflected badly on the Master as well as the apprentice. Kenobi however didn't appear to take it personally, instead casting a glance of his own at Skywalker to silence any further comments.

"We need to find him somehow," Master Kenobi pointed out as Kyle and Master Sei'lar stood up. "Let's check with the Customs office. He came in on a waste transport, and on a world like this that would mean that he would need to pass through even more stringent checks than the regular customs. They can't afford diseases or plagues on these worlds."

"I can save you the trouble," a voice informed them.

Kyle looked around to find himself facing what was obviously another Bothan Jedi, and a Master by his appearance. His robes were similar to those of Master Sei'lar, but in a deep tan, and with a bronze and gold medallion, cast in the shape of the emblem of the Jedi Order overlaying the Republic Public Security Division's own emblem, attached to his jacket's breast. The Lightsabre hanging from his belt was a simple design, and matched by a blaster hanging from the other hip, and a stun rod in a holster on his thigh. His fur was a silvery shade, with a smattering of golden brown flecks across it, and his eyes were a piercing shade of purple. His features extended towards the more canine trend of Bothan; the muzzle was longer than more feline variety, but there was a more pronounced brow than in the equine.

"Master Joran'ala," Master Sei'lar greeted him. "I did not think that you would be here by this time..."

"I have my ways," was the simple reply. "I believe that I arrived just before you did, and I've been able to use my time to track down Tetri Url's location." He pulled a datapad from an inner pocket and held it out for Master Kenobi and Master Sei'lar to see. "There was an anomalous mass reading on one of the containers that you followed here. Not enough for a warning to come up, but enough that it should have been noted, which it wasn't."

"You think that he's hiding in this waste container?" Master Kenobi asked, his tone sceptical.

"The anomaly, and the fact that no one reported it, suggests to me a hidden compartment of some kind," Master Joran'ala declared. "Most likely one that is regularly used for smuggling. Given the urgency with which these cargos move back and forth between this system and Coruscant, I do not find it surprising that someone has started using them in this manner. I have previously encountered more bizarre means of smuggling," he added.

"So, we track down the container then," Skywalker declared.

"Already done," Master Joran'ala informed him. "It's currently moored in the tertiary dock, following a warning that it might contain contaminated materials. And it'll stay there under tight surveillance until someone checks it out and clears it, or manages to work out who pushed through a spurious hazard warning," he added with some satisfaction.

"You lied to the docking teams?" Master Sei'lar asked, not exactly aghast, but definitely curious.

"We're dealing with an opponent who can sense threats directed against him," Master Joran'ala pointed out. "An indirect threat such as this will present itself only as an inconvenience, not as something that he needs to concern himself with. Of course, once we approach, it will be different."

"Hadn't we better check that he is there first?" Master Kenobi commented. "I know that the Seekers weren't able to find him before, but if they knew where to look it might be easier."

"Actually that is part of my idea," Master Joran'ala agreed. "But only part of it." He turned to Kyle and Skywalker. "Jedi Reeves. I require you to stay here, and keep watch. Return to your ship if it will be easier, but keep track of the situation using the Now, and report to us if anything goes wrong. Padawan Skywalker, you must remain here to ensure his safety."

"But Master-" Skywalker began to say, before Master Sei'lar cut him off.

"This will be too dangerous for you," he announced. "I am aware of your skill with a Lightsabre, but if this comes to combat then Lightsabres may only be a side issue to events; the kind of knowledge that Tetri Url has access to is far more dangerous than any blade. Kyle," he added as he began to turn away. "Tolerate him, please..."

As the three Masters left, Kyle gritted his teeth, and looked at Skywalker. The Padawan was clearly upset by being left behind, and probably feeling slighted at being left out of events. Kyle at least had no such issues; he would be watching events as they happened.

He left Skywalker standing there and hurried back into the _Long Shot_, jogging into the lounge and dropping himself into the Now.

Hurriedly he pulled his gaze back from Totality, focusing first onto Coruscant, and then onto Tastriff when he was close enough to that landmark not to get lost. His spirit-self burnt a trail across the sky, surfing down through the atmosphere on the back of a hyperspace signal before leaping clear and flowing over the area around the _Long Shot_.

Skywalker was standing just outside the hatch now, glowering at the world in general. The Force bent around him, his anger at being left out colouring everything about and around him. Kyle considered him, unseen and unknown, for a moment, trying to find something about his fellow Jedi to actually like, rather than only finding things to dislike.

There was nothing that he could really appreciate though: Skywalker was a Guardian by training and disposition, much as Kyle's original training had originally intended for him, but his record was for being more aggressive than Kyle could approve of; he was born on Tatooine, wherever that was, whilst Kyle was Corellian; the faint afterimage of Skywalker's thoughts hung in the air around him, the impression of a woman's face barely visible. There was nothing specifically to dislike about him from simply looking at him. But there was one thing that Kyle, and even to a certain extent Master Sei'lar, could never reconcile themselves or their philosophy over: destiny.

Seekers had no time for prophecy; an inability to perceive the future through the Force, beyond a few seconds worth of attack anticipation that was only good for a fight, left them with a limited patience for it. Seekers had perhaps the keenest minds of any Jedi for intellectual prediction, but beyond this they lacked an interest in what some of them saw as an unhelpful art, or an imprecise science.

To be around someone who was meant to be touched by destiny, particularly a destiny that to most Seekers seemed fairly ambiguous, was irritating, because it was so far beyond their remit that the prediction almost belonged to another Order.

Throwing his gaze outwards from the ship, Kyle sought out the trio of Jedi Masters, who were getting some interested looks as they strode quickly through the spaceport. Seeing a Jedi Master on this world at all was clearly unusual; when the entire planet was agricultural, with only a couple of small settlements on the surface, most Jedi tended to find their interests centred around the habitats in orbit, rather than on the surface.

Kyle kept his gaze wide, soaking up the glimpses of people, the furtive looks and the hidden concerns. In one area word had been comlinked ahead – Kyle had seen the signal as well as both ends of the conversation – and boxes were being moved hastily out of sight. A manager, caught in a compromising position with one of his staff members, hurried to tidy himself up, not realising that his guilty reaction drew more attention than if he had simply carried on regardless. In a gambling den, hidden behind a warehouse, a dozen people checked their weapons and continued to play, wagering duty shifts and recreational time in place of hard currency.

All were secret moments, all were things that a Seeker would see in passing, and all were things that no Seeker ever spoke of; whether other Jedi understood it or not, a Seeker never revealed the true extent of their capabilities, or the real scope of their gaze.

Swinging in low over the three Masters, Kyle formed his spirit-self into something approximating his normal appearance, and rested a spectral hand upon Master Sei'lar's shoulder. The elder Seeker's stride shifted subtly for a second, and then carried on as if nothing had happened.

_Kyle_. The word appeared in the Now, materialising almost telepathically, but seeming more as a shape in the world than something that was spoken. Only a Seeker could speak thus, and only a Seeker would be able to receive such a message.

"I'm here," Kyle replied, feeling himself speaking normally. From within the Now, he had no need for special tricks to hide his speech, or make himself heard.

_Check out the container_, Master Sei'lar ordered.

Losing his apparent shape, Kyle flowed forwards, finding the container easily; people's perceptions of what it might contain, and the trouble that it might cause them, although not real, left vivid marks across the huge container as it hovered in the dock. The design was one that he was familiar with; the entire structure could be collapsed down to almost nothing for the return trip to Coruscant, greatly reducing the need for cleaning it, by storing the returning food in different containers. The repulsors were a powerful design, constantly active for the duration of their stay inside the planet's gravity well, allowing easy movement of the containers, and meaning that the container was actually moored to a docking platform by heavy durasteel tethers rather than being locked in place.

He flowed through the layers of imagined danger and the more real layers of waste that filled the container. It was a lot less pleasant than simply watching a recording of such a trip would have been, and he regretted immediately that he had chosen this route. But there was no other way, and he moved on through it, searching around until he found what he was looking for.

In one corner of the massive container, a small compartment, decidedly smaller than an escape pod, and only really big enough to hold its own life-support and power supply, plus a small space for someone to hide in, had been attached to the wall. Kyle kept his distance initially, hanging immaterial in the heavily compacted waste materials, and contemplating what to do next.

He couldn't rightly go back and tell them that he had found this smuggling pod and hadn't then checked what was inside it. He probed closer, a bit at a time, ducking back rapidly after each jab at the sense of the pod. There wasn't immediately anything wrong, and so he allowed himself to flow inwards, ready to back off should anything go wrong.

It was as if he had stepped from a starless night into a brightly lit room. He averted his gaze for an instant, allowing himself to recover, before looking around more carefully. From the outside the pod had appeared almost blank through the Now, and yet from within, the Force was not only present, but almost aggressively powerful.

The Force was bent and twisted however. What appeared to be runes of some kind had been inscribed into the inner surfaces of the pod, and these glowed with a strange light as Kyle watched them. A small, hunched figure was sitting at the far end of the pod, apparently asleep. A short black staff was across his knees, and Kyle spotted the Force-tuned mechanisms within the end-piece. He felt his way around the pod further, finding a kit-bag in one corner.

Around this bag, or its contents, the Force was twisted and warped, as if something was distorting it like the gravity well of a star. Even the colour of the Force was changed, the inner lambency of the bag's contents shining out with some ethereal light.

Edging closer, Kyle prodded the bag one, then again, and then slipped himself closer so that he could peek inside.

A stinging backlash, a violent discord with the harmony of the Force, struck out at him from the bag, hurling him out of the pod. It hadn't actually managed to touch him – it had long ago been deemed impossible to be attacked inside the Now – but the shock of it had caught him off-guard. It had also woken the pod's occupant, who looked around, startled by the suddenness of it all.

Kyle didn't wait around to find out what had happened. That discord should have been audible to the Masters, and he rushed back to them, coming to a stop beside Master Sei'lar.

"It's him alright," Kyle informed him, not waiting to announce himself properly. "There are some kind of powerful artefacts in a bag he's brought with him. One of them _attacked_ me," he added, trying to sound offended.

Master Sei'lar looked around, slightly shocked at his unannounced presence, and then relayed the news rapidly to the other two. "Kyle, keep track of him," he called out, aloud, as the three of them split up.

Kyle flowed back to the waste container, where a hatch had opened in the far side. Even through the Force, the pod was now visible, and Kyle could see the figure climbing laboriously out of it. The figure paused to haul the back up beside him, and then jumped, leaping across to the docking platform in a single bound. Kyle was used to judging proportions in the Now, but even he had to recheck that distance; even for a Jedi that jump should have been pushing things a bit from a standing start and carrying that much dead weight.

The figure clambered up onto an inspection team's airspeeder, drawing irate cries as he did so. These he calmly ignored, until one of the team tried to grab him, and he hurled them aside with a casual gesture. As Master Kenobi appeared at the end of the platform, Url scowled in frustration, and gunned the engine. He was clearly no pilot; his driving was erratic even in a civilian vehicle, and he rammed several crates before managing to steer himself onto a clear path.

Master Kenobi tried to leap aboard the airspeeder, but a badly-judged turning bounced the vehicle further than he had anticipated and he came up short. As he rolled to his feet, a pulled a small metal disc from his belt, hurling it at the airspeeder. As it struck, the beacon started transmitting, the signal visible to Kyle through the Now.

As one Master was evaded, another moved in; Master Sei'lar struck without warning, his Lightsabre a glowing beacon in the air as he dropped from a balcony, missing by scant centimetres, but removing one of the engines from the airspeeder as he landed.

Apparently by sheer brute force, Url hauled the airspeeder back on course, driving it further through the facility and towards the relative freedom of the open fields. Kyle saw that Master Kenobi was already running to collect another airspeeder, whilst Master Sei'lar was running after the errant vehicle.

For a moment, Kyle found himself wondering about the errant Master; Joran'ala was nowhere to be seen, at least nearby. Extending his view of the area, Kyle spotted the Bothan Master an instant before he acted.

Kyle hadn't had much of a chance to form an opinion about Master Joran'ala. His reputation preceded him of course; the case of the Vagrant Stones had achieved almost mythical status on Corellia, while the details of the case of Hidden Faces had been circulated to every Temple and training facility lest anyone else should fall prey to it. He was as famous, in his own right, as Master Windu, or any other member of the Council, despite the fact that he had no place on the Council, and his activities were largely clandestine for the most part.

His means of operating largely tended to involve trying to outthink or outmanoeuvre an opponent, and by his record he was good at it. Being one step ahead was always said to be the greatest advantage that he could ask for.

This certainly appeared to be the case here; a dozen cargo transports, all seemingly innocent in their actions, simultaneously spun and set themselves down, neatly forming a blind alley and forcing Url to hurl the airspeeder into a desperate spin to avoid crashing, and to try to turn around. Even as the move began however, it went wrong, as Url managed to jam both ends of the airspeeder between two pylons, nearly throwing himself out of the vehicle altogether.

All three Masters now closed in, drawing Lightsabres as they did. Tetri Url was clearly being given no chances to try anything.

Master Sei'lar's earlier warning about Lightsabres being merely a side issue to this matter was proven correct however, as Url lashed out through the Force.

Kyle shrank back as the Force bent around Url and the contents of his bag, the power of the Dark Side spilling outwards from them. Energies flowed around them, driven, but uncontrolled, lashing out randomly.

Ice formed across the surface of a crane as the heat was drawn from it. A wind snapped through the gap between two containers, the sudden force of it shattering the bones of two workers. A droid, imbued with the malign presence of the Dark Side, went berserk and began to tear through the canteen where it had been serving only seconds earlier.

Kyle drew back further, trying to take in the scale of what had been unleashed. Energies of this scale being unleashed in such a manner were a thing of history texts, of the antiquity of the Jedi when they had battled the Sith Empire on a regular basis. To find such raw power being hurled around with such ease in this day and age was a startling thing indeed.

The three Masters, though clearly startled by the level of power, were undaunted. Perhaps it was simply that they did not see things as Kyle did; his advantaged position in the Now let him perceive the true extent of the chaos that had been unleashed here. In any event, all three of them armoured themselves with the Force, striding forwards against an almost hurricane gale that had been whipped up.

At the centre of it all, Tetri Url was working furiously, scribbling something on the ground beside the wreck of the airspeeder. Kyle saw through the patterns of lines that flowed around him that he was no longer the driving force behind what was happening here; whatever was hidden in that bag was the prime cause of the trouble assailing the spaceport, and Kyle shivered at the thought that whatever this was had probably been sitting, unnoticed, in the Jedi Temple for the last few decades, at least.

Master Sei'lar and Master Kenobi had ended up side-by-side leaning on each other as they drove into the maelstrom, Lightsabres abandoned as they clung to each other for support. Master Joran'ala, approaching from the other side, was advancing by means of another airspeeder, using the Force, and the onboard climate management field, to deflect the worst of the storm.

Master Kenobi pushed forwards, aided by Master Sei'lar, reaching Tetri Url first. The smaller Master didn't seem surprised at the interruption, merely annoyed that it had come so soon. A telekinetic blast aimed at Master Kenobi was deflected by Master Sei'lar, who hung back to provide support.

"You have to stop this!" Master Kenobi called out, bracing himself against the wind and the raw power of the Force that was being hurled against him.

"Stop this, I will not!" called back the diminutive librarian. "Renewed the Jedi must be! Advance they must!" A tridactyl hand lashed out, claws arched as if to grab at Master Kenobi's robes, despite the distance between them. The Force bent around that hand, and the gesture, hurling a bolt of lightning across the distance between them.

Master Kenobi caught the lightning against his hand, more by accident than design, trying to drive it off and losing his balance as he did. He stumbled, falling backwards just as Tetri Url was forced to direct his attention elsewhere: Master Joran'ala's borrowed airspeeder rammed sharply against the wrecked one, throwing the librarian's bag onto the floor and disturbing whatever power was at work within it.

Url hurled another bolt of lightning, forcing Master Joran'ala to dive aside this time, and then dug once more into the Dark Side, the contents of that bag once more coming to his aid as their energies flowed around his, guiding and directing his actions and, more subtly Kyle realised, his thoughts as well.

A wave of cold so sudden and sharp that even Kyle felt himself shiver against it lashed out causing frost to spring up across the surroundings. At the same time, something took shape within the Force, its form coalescing out of the essence of the Dark Side itself.

This was something that Kyle had not even suspected was possible. The thing appeared to be ill defined, as if its shape was a passing fancy, but there was a definite impression that it was trying not to _lose_ shape, even if it wasn't interested in holding a specific one. Kyle doubted that it was visible as more than a vague outline to anyone else, though to his advantaged position it appeared as a red mist, haloed with the power of the Dark Side, and with lightning crackling off it.

A half-formed limb speared through the side of a cargo transport, causing the metal to warp and rust even as it shattered under the force of the blow. Another limb tried to spear Master Kenobi, who dived aside at the last possible second, barely avoiding a strike that powered through the ferrocrete floor as if it was paper.

"What is it?" Master Sei'lar called out, his tone almost horrified at the sight and the sense of the thing.

"A Force Spirit," Master Joran'ala called back. "We cannot easily face this foe," he added, raising his Lightsabre. The Force flowed through the glowing yellow blade with almost blinding intensity to Kyle's eyes, and caught a flailing limb as it swung around towards the Investigator.

The thing, the spirit, howled in a dozen tones as the Lightsabre sliced away part of the limb, its voices like shattering glass, like nails across a blackboard, like the putrid exhalation of a corpse. Everyone nearby shuddered at the sounds, unheard by normal senses and instead perceived through the shiver of your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck. The injured limb seemed to cauterise almost immediately, whilst the segment that had been cut off whirled past Kyle's sense, combusting as it did.

Perhaps less experienced than Master Joran'ala, neither of the other two masters attempted to mimic this feat, trying to armour themselves with the Force but otherwise simply resorting to physical prowess in order to dodge the attacks coming at them, trying all the time to get closer to Url who was untouched by the Force Spirit.

As Kyle watched it though, he sensed that this was not by any choice of the Force Spirit's. Rather, he sensed that whatever it was hiding in the bag was shielding Url and the bag from the Spirit's attention, and requiring quite a lot of effort to do so.

Flowing closer, dodging hastily around the flailing grasp of the Spirit, he dived towards the bag, jerking back at it lashed out at him through the Force. It hadn't been more than a very cheap distraction, but it cost dearly, as the Spirit seemed to notice the rather potent pool of Dark Side power that it was sitting right on top of.

Url flung himself hastily aside, his runes forgotten, as the Spirit pounded a significant part of itself down into the ground where he had been. Kyle reflected as he drew back that the Dark Side was not only dangerous to handle, but it was fickle when it came to being handled at all.

The bag that Url had thus far been carrying avoided being hit by leaping aside as well. For an instant Kyle suspected that Url had used the Force to pull it after him, before he realised that the way the Force had bent around the bag suggested that whatever was actually inside the bag had done the throwing.

With its concentration apparently lost, the thing in the bag was forced to drag itself once more through the air as the Spirit lunged up through the floor, sending a fountain of ferrocrete into the air as it did. Kyle pulled back from it as the Spirit flashed past his spirit-self twisting itself back towards the bag, ignoring the Jedi and Url altogether now.

Sensing the direction of its efforts, the three Jedi pulled back, Masters Kenobi and Sei'lar heading back the way they had come while Master Joran'ala took a run at the nearest cargo transport, leaping up the side of it and clambering through the cockpit and out the other side. Kyle remained as close as he dared, watching the bag drag itself around, trying desperately to evade the Dark Spirit that it had called into existence.

Url, still caught in the midst of things, was merely trying to shield himself as best he could, unable to slip past the raging Spirit. His efforts were minimal however, compared to the power that raged overhead, and ice was starting to form across his robes from the rampant energies that were twisting the Force around him.

Kyle pulled back further as the Spirit seemed to grow, actually beginning to lose cohesion from its exertions. It became more frantic in its efforts, lunging faster and faster at the bag, which continued to be hauled around by its contents, rapidly losing ground. After only a few more seconds, the bag's strap got caught on a piece of the damaged airspeeder, trapping the bag and its contents. The Spirit lunged one final time, driving itself down towards its tormentor.

"No!" howled Url, his hands stretched out as if to grab the bag despite the distances involved. For an instant, Kyle suspected that something might have almost leapt from the bag to Url.

Then it didn't matter any more.

The release of Dark Side powers as the artefacts within the bag were destroyed levelled everything within fifty metres, and the empathic shockwave was felt all the way back to Coruscant.


	11. Chapter 6

"Kyle, who is this?" Rafe asked, his voice low and wary. Even the most inebriated guest hadn't dared to move as Kyle and Tetri Url stared each other down.

"He used to be a Librarian in the Temple on Coruscant," Kyle declared, loud enough that the entire chamber could hear him. "Then he stole some notes on how to do some very dangerous tricks, and tried to kill three Masters during his escape. We thought that he was dead," he added, his tone suggesting that he wouldn't mind correcting the oversight.

Tetri Url snorted derisively. "_Wrong_ you were," he sneered. "Power there is, in what the Council hid. Power to hide. Power to defeat."

"Power to corrupt," Kyle countered. "How long has he been here?" he asked Atraas abruptly.

Apparently not put out by being talked to in such a manner, Atraas shrugged. "For nearly eight years, Tetri Url has been a guest within my palace," he admitted, his tone suggesting that this was nothing of consequence.

Rafe grabbed Kyle's arm as his fellow Seeker stiffened in annoyance. "Calm down Kyle... This guy could be more dangerous than you think."

"What do you mean, 'more dangerous'? You don't know the stuff that he took," Kyle hissed back at Rafe.

"No, I don't," Rafe agreed. "But I do know that you've never been into this palace, and despite his claims about how he identified you, Atraas couldn't have been certain. Someone could have helped him to identify you, and that someone could also have made sure that you never had a legitimate reason for coming here."

Kyle glared at Url across the open space of the chamber. "You think that he convinced Atraas to keep me away?"

"I think that Atraas might not even realise that it wasn't his own idea," Rafe countered.

Kyle looked at him sharply. "Hutts are resistant to that sort of trick," he pointed out.

"You're the one who said he ran off with dangerous information," came the sharp reply. "He's had almost eight years to set things up for an emergency like this. Don't provoke things."

* * *

They had withdrawn quickly, leaving the heavy tension of the main chamber and retreating to the comparative calm of the rooms that Atraas had set aside for them. Atraas hadn't been unhappy to see them leave; the Hutt had still been confused by the whole situation, and Kyle guessed that he had no idea how truly dangerous Tetri Url was.

"He's deluded, or something," Kyle declared as he summed up his description of the events on Tastriff to the rest of the group. Srah's team had joined them in the communal area of Rafe and Kyle's comparatively spacious chambers; as on Jorrie, the people of Neuook built in walled cities, making expansion hard. But on Neuook, the population was smaller and more stable due to the limited water supplies.

The communal area was dome shaped, with living areas on opposite sides of it. In the wall on one side, midway between the archways to the living areas, was an archway leading into the rest of the palace. Directly opposite that stood a tapestry woven from local plants; like all local life they were very hardy, relying on little water, and even being uprooted, dried out and woven together had barely slowed them, meaning that the pattern of the tapestry periodically changed as the flora tried to untangle itself.

The carpet, fortunately, was less animate, being woven from a fibrous rock rather than plant matter. It was circular, and had seemingly been woven in place, for a solid rock pillar stuck straight up out of the floor and joined into the ceiling. Clustered around the top of that pillar was the inner ring of the vanes that made up the entire ceiling; the entire ceiling was covered in thousands of them, each one a part of a single moisture vaporator built into the side of the central column.

Now they all lounged around this room, theoretically designed for two, but comfortable enough for the group of them.

Srah had settled herself next to the drink's cabinet and was acting as barkeep. It had surprised Kyle to see the drink's cabinet, until he realised that most of what was in it had a very low water content; the most liquid thing in the cabinet was akin to syrup, and a climate management field ensured that even the slightest hint of vapour was retained inside the cabinet and swept up by its inbuilt vaporator.

Rhyydonning had seemed to make a new friend; he had brought Rees in with him, the little Muttamok riding on the Wookiee's shoulder like the parrot of some ancient space pirate. Rees had abandoned Rhyydonning once he scented Rafe, and had returned to his companion's shoulder instead. At present, ignoring the severity of the situation, he was trying to get teeth intended for handling small insects and fruit around the shell of a local nut.

Sthynn had located a set of clothes of local manufacture, but in a more elegant style, presenting him with the impression of being both nearly native, and being of high society. Kyle had found himself liking the Rodian a lot more as time went on, despite the odd style of him. Currently, he was lounging in one of the softer chairs, looking remarkably comfortable and homely there.

Gates had turned up and was sitting off to one side, and it was only when he realised that Gates was armed that he realised that so was Rhyydonning; both of them had settled easily in positions that allowed them to keep an eye on the door. So far Gates had offered little to the discussion, aside from a few snide noises.

The only one not present was Tetee; the Mon Calamari had made it out of the _Vagrant Soul_, and then been forced to turn back inside. Neuook was too dry for a water-born species to survive in, and there was no way that Atraas would run to the expense of a tank of water for her.

"He seemed to think that he was saving the Jedi Order, or something," Kyle continued. "By sealing off forbidden knowledge, we were depriving ourselves of vital weapons. Or something like that. It wasn't the Potentium Heresy; he still seemed to accept that the Dark Side existed. And he wasn't turning evil as such, because he was trying to save the Order. But..."

"Heavily Radical," Rafe summarised.

"Radical?" Sthynn asked.

"Yeah..." Rafe seemed to search for the right words. "Over the millennia there have been a lot of different ideas about how to use the Force. Some people, like the people who fell for the Potentium Heresy, decided that there was no such thing as the Light Side or Dark Side of the Force, and so it didn't matter what you _did_, as long your intention was good."

"The problem," Kyle said, taking up the thread, "is that there _is_ a Light Side and a Dark Side to the Force. In another time, or another place, maybe there might be something where those didn't exist. But here and now there is. And if you call on the Dark Side, even with the best of intentions..." He shook his head.

"It starts to call to you," Rafe continued. "To some people it's a whisper, to others it's a more direct call. But it is there, and you do hear it, and the more you call on it, the more it calls on you. Some people start out by diving into the Dark Side, others just decide to try something new one day and then don't bother to come back."

"And it looks like Tetri Url is one of those," Kyle said. "Though he's apparently lasted better than most. Normally people in his position fall completely within a short while, but he's been hanging around here presumably since shortly after he got away from us."

"Could this explain that rhythm thing that happened in the passageway?" Srah asked from behind a glass of something highly viscous that she was admiring the refractive qualities of. "I mean, that was Dark Side, and here he is..."

Kyle glanced at Rafe, who considered, and then shook his head. "I get the feeling that whatever that was, it was here a long time before Tetri Url arrived... Didn't you notice? No songs, no music... The only music we've heard on this planet so far invoked the Dark Side in some very powerful way. I'm going to look into it a bit more, but I don't think that that's directly related to Tetri Url."

"What do you mean you're going to look into it?" Kyle asked. "I know that we need to deal with Url, but beyond that we need to be moving on. We've still got to do something about that damned Eye."

"Well it occurs to me that someone might actually have seen that Eye, and this is a good place to stop off for a while to ask about it," Rafe replied. "Also, while we're here, we've got the nominal protection from Atraas, which should reduce the chances of... Rees, give it here," he said, taking a breku nut from the Muttamok and handing him a softer one instead. "Anyway, we're less likely to be spotted, or noticed, or reported to the authorities if we're here than if we're running around. Also, and don't take this the wrong way," he said warningly, "but I want to talk to Tetri Url about the Eye."

"This one is going to be interesting," Srah deadpanned, with a hint of a mischievous grin. Kyle's expression was a bit more definite, and a lot less happy. "Go on: why?"

"If this information he has was really that dangerous, then it might contain something about the Eye," Rafe explained. "Think about it; the Eye can see the Now, can attack through the Now, and had the power to level an entire planet's surface. Now by your description," he pointed at Kyle, "Tetri Url was able to hide himself from the Now, until you knew specifically where to look for him. And the kind of powers that he was throwing around might have some links. It's tenuous, but it's a possibility."

Kyle shook his head. "You're not going to get anything out of that guy. I can't believe that you're even thinking of trying."

"Well you've got to start somewhere," Srah pointed out. "As for me though... I'm hanging around here anyway. I can get in and out through the back door anytime, so the guards on the gate don't worry me, but I want to find out about those Jedi Detectors of theirs before I go anywhere. Maybe there's just the one of them and we got unlucky. Or maybe there are dozens, hundreds even. I'd like to know before I walk into one of them. Like Rafe said, this is probably the best place around here to find out that sort of thing. Anyway, I've got to look for work still, and this is a good place to be for that as well."

Kyle shook his head slowly, apparently amazed at the bizarre twists of fate. "Okay," he said after a moment's thought. "I'll stay as well for now. But..." He trailed off, his eyes loosing focus. "You feel that?"

Rafe nodded, his own gaze clearly elsewhere. "That was... That was something significant happening. Fate just hit a bad note..."

"What are you two going on about?" Srah asked, looking around the room, her rudimentary Force senses unable to pick up anything out of the ordinary.

"Something big just started happening," Rafe said. "Big, and personal, and important... I don't know why but whatever's happening out there right now is going to shape the entire galaxy from the feel of it."

"The last time I felt anything this big was when the clones started attacking the Jedi," Kyle added. "And before that it was probably a month earlier when Count Dooku was killed. This though... This is massive."

"And here we are, unable to get a proper look at it," Rafe muttered. He chewed his lip for a second, and then looked at Kyle. "I'm going to take a look at it."

"You're crazy," Kyle replied sharply. "The last time we tried using the Now we were attacked."

"I know," Rafe replied. "But this time you'll have my back rather than us both going in unguarded. And you're just sore because I got there first; you were about to suggest it as well."

"Damn you anyway," Kyle replied, without rancour, before nodding. "Okay, go."

* * *

The galaxy spun above him like a coin as he hurtled through it and around it, riding the solar winds like a bird. Even in this urgent situation, he still couldn't restrain himself, and he looped and dived as he felt the wondrous exhilaration of flying through totality.

As he got control of himself once again, he dived downwards, homing on the source of the disturbance that he and Kyle had felt. Initially the echoes were too powerful, and he found himself almost swamped by them as he dove one way and another, before finally tracing it to a single world.

_Odd_, he thought to himself. _How can a single world make this much noise_?

As he drove closer though, he found further wonders. The stars wheeled and burnt as he rushed headlong along the strands of fate, rushing headlong down into the world, down to a single continent, down to a single place.

The world was on fire, a land covered in lava, with massive storm clouds overhead and the little sunlight that filtered through them doing little but to highlight the molten glow of the lava. Heat assaulted Rafe as he dipped low over the rivers of molten rock, hurtling towards the source of whatever was spinning fate to its tune.

At the back of his mind though, even as he focused on this one point, he kept the rest of Totality in view. The Eye had taken a few minutes tracking them the first time that they had encountered it, and he hoped to be hidden against before it caught up with him.

There was the terrible knowledge though, that he was risking more than just his own life like this; when the Eye had attacked before, it had been an attack aimed at the whole of Yehgast, simply because the Eye believed that he was there. If it traced him back to Neuook, would people die there as well?

But he couldn't help himself. Seekers were cursed to know what was going on around them, and to find himself deprived of that source of information, however covert and irresponsible his use of it might appear to anyone not gifted with the same sight, was to be cut adrift. Not knowing what was going on was almost physically painful to him, and he was somewhat shocked at his own recklessness.

His own recklessness however took a back seat when he saw what was going on ahead of him.

Lightsabres blazing, two Jedi were fighting on hovering platforms above the molten river. Rafe blasted over them on his first pass, certain that this could not be the galaxy shaping events that he and Kyle had both sensed. But his sense of the twisting skeins of fate all ran back to that pair of Jedi, and the seemingly ludicrous fight that took place on the floating platforms.

Their identity as Jedi seemed obvious from their clothing, and the colour of their Lightsabres.

_Incomplete - Witness the fight between Kenobi and Skywalker_

* * *

"Sir? Can you be sure that there is something significant on this world?"

Srael turned from the window, and looked at lieutenant Tacha with a faint, almost melancholy, smile. Outside the window, an AT-RT stomped past, its systems tuned to their covert best to reduce the whirring and stamping to a minimum. Only a succession of faint thumps reached the inside of the officer's quarters of the barracks building as it moved onwards on its rounds. The light of a crescent moon shone down through the still and clear air, the stars almost piercingly bright against the darkness of the city.

Inside, the lights were turned down low, allowing a better view of the world outside. A simple office arrangement had been laid out, with a single desk, and three chairs, dominating the scene. Against one wall, a bed had been unfolded, showing that this was more than just an office, whilst a chest at the foot of the bed held what few possessions Srael had deemed it impossible to live without for the time on Neuook.

Tacha was in a light version of his uniform, as many of the non-cloned officers had been during their time on the planet. Srael had ensured before they came down to this world that all of the necessities had been taken care of for uniforms, and the light but tough uniforms had been augmented with filters and goggles as protection against the local dust and sand. He stood beside the desk, where he had been reading from various reports on the activity since they had arrived. Now though, his question drew more than a vague nod from his superior.

"Something significant about this world?" Srael asked. "By the visions of Seers we are guided here. That gives it some significance, wouldn't you say?"

"Perhaps sir," Tacha said diplomatically. "But not if those visions showed only failure on our part."

"True," Srael agreed. "But Seers being Seers, wouldn't be able to tell success from failure, as we would perceive it. To them, knowing that they have caused a specific future to come to pass, or avoided one that causes them trouble, is victory. To them battles, wars and the burden of politics are merely things to be manipulated." He sounded tired, more so than Tacha had ever heard him before.

"But this world," Srael said, regaining some of his customary vigour, "this world... Have you looked at its history lieutenant?"

"Briefly sir," Tacha replied, frowning. "But there isn't much on it; there's been no real interest in this world because it's so inhospitable. Even traders and smugglers don't find much time for this place."

"No real interest," Srael repeated, almost relishing the words. "But _there_ is the issue," he pronounced. "Take a good look at the meteorological survey some time," he advised. "Almost no atmospheric moisture. The only standing water is far north and south, where it's still warm enough to stop it from freezing, but even there it's a pitiful amount. And yet life has evolved on this world. Certainly it has adapted to live on the limited moisture that is available, but there is no way that it could have evolved on that much water.

"And on that thought we look back, hoping perhaps to find a time when the little water on this world was spread more, and could better support evolution. And what do we find? As recently as two thousand years ago, Republic survey ships listed this world as supported a lush, rich environment, with tropical regions, oceans, forests of outstanding beauty that would have brought tears to the eyes of artists..." He sighed, his eyes looking past the physical world to this imagined land.

"And yet now," he continued, his tone softer and less dramatic, "we find this world barren, with less than five percent of the water that it previously had available to it. Forests and jungles have been swept away, and deserts, previously unknown on this world, have taken over the vast majority of the surface. The rich and lush beauty has been striped away, and in its place we find what some might call beauty; a stark, harsh beauty, that does nothing for the soul of poets except to dry it out."

Tacha waited as Srael tailed off. Rarely was the Inquisitor this voluble, and Tacha didn't wish to spoil the moment. But when he sensed that the moment might be passing, he offered a few words to try and get it going again. "So... Where did the water go then, sir?"

"That is the mystery lieutenant," Srael replied. "The Republic lost interest in this world for nearly five hundred years. No reasons given, no hint that they even remembered this world until some smugglers stumbled onto it, and found only sands where there had once been a jewel. Something happened to this world in that time. Something that has defied terraformers, meteorologists, geophysicists, and Jedi for one and a half millennia. This world _is_ significant lieutenant," Srael assured him.

"Will we remain here for long then?" Tacha asked hesitantly. "Whatever happened that long ago..."

"The Seers guided us here," Srael reminded him. "We will wait for five days, and then I will contact Bosthirda to see what they have to say for themselves if nothing has turned up." He turned back to the window, looking out at the stars once more. "Five more days lieutenant."

* * *

"Rafe..."

Rafe drew himself up from the bed, resting on his elbows and looking at the archway that separated his small bedroom from the rest of the quarters that Atraas had given them. Somewhat blearily, he frowned at the silhouette in the archway. "Srah?"

"Yeah, it's me," she said softly as she slipped into the room and allowed the curtain across the archway to fall back into place.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, fumbling for the controls for the lights. She settled down on the edge of the bed, and reached out to stop his hand before he could find them. At his feet, Rees shifted in his sleep and mewled softly, before falling silent again.

"Is it that hard to work out?" she replied. He ran his hand up her arm, finding it bare until it came to her shoulder, where she had pulled a sheet up like a toga. In the dim light that filtered through the curtain, he picked out enough of her form to realise that it was all she had on, at least from the waist up.

"You shouldn't do this," he warned her, trying to sound convincing and not entirely managing it whilst still half asleep.

"Shouldn't do what? It's not something that we haven't done before," she added, running a hand across his chest. "You enjoyed it last time."

"The last time we had our reasons," Rafe reminded her. "We were both younger..."

She ran her fingers over his chest as he fell silent, and her lips twitched slightly as she felt him deliberately slowing his pulse and respiration. "Younger, and less experienced," she admitted. "You're holding yourself better than last time."

"Srah... With everything that's gone on... I can't," he declared. "Not now. Too much has happened recently for it to feel the same."

She paused, and nodded slowly. "I thought that everything that had gone on would have been a reason to try again... But you're right." She stood slowly, and walked to the archway again. "I had to try," she told him, wistfully.

As she twitched the curtain aside, Rafe called out to her. "I was never with anyone else. The thought never crossed my mind."

She looked back at him, and there was enough light for him to see faintly the sad smile that she cast in his direction. "It's sweet... And I wish I could say the same..."

* * *

_6 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Neuook, Outer Rim Territories_

Breakfast in the palace of Atraas the Hutt was a grand affair.

Some crime lords, or nearly-crime lords like Atraas saw himself, preferred to take breakfast alone, mulling over the possibilities and catching up on a bit of downtime before the hard slog of the day began. Atraas however, appeared to prefer keeping people where he could see them, and they could easily do business with each other.

The main chamber was now lined with tables, with the entire affair acting as a buffet as guests moved around the tables, sometimes retiring to the alcoves in the sides of the chamber, and sometimes hanging around the more open central area of the floor. Wraith-droids moved around the tables, refilling bowls and plates, or redistributing where there was obvious surplus, whilst more streamlined variants hung with white silk in place of the grey sack-cloth moved around the tables distributing drinks to guests. Yet another variant, this time draped in rippling silvery material and with holographic echoes following them constantly, hovered near important guests; the locals clearly had no time for other people's designs of protocol or translator droids.

Atraas was actually mobile, the spacing of the tables having clearly been set up to allow him to move freely between them without driving the masses before him. Two of the more ornate protocol Wraith-droids followed him constantly, acting as secretaries as well as translators. He greeted many guests freely, sampling various foods as he went, and generally being a lot more sociable than you would have expected from such a figure of the criminal underworld.

The food was a varied affair; it had to be given the variety of guests that were present. The low water content was obvious in it, and so much that was cooked was verging on being burnt. Quite a lot of the food was uncooked however, and clearly imported.

Kyle moved around the chamber, sampling rather than eating properly, intrigued by everything that was going on around him. For all of the silence of the night, the breakfast was a rowdy affair, with noise and bustle that would not have been out of place at a major dinner party.

There was, however, one thing that soured Kyle's mood, and that was a guest who was conspicuous by his absence. Tetri Url was nowhere to be seen, and Kyle disliked the rogue Jedi not being visible.

Rafe was more visibly at his ease, though still somewhat discomforted by the crowds. He had managed to gather a plateful of food, and then retired to one corner, where he was chatting with a pair of Gran. The conversation seemed genial on Rafe's part, but Kyle was caught most by the expression, and sense, from the two Gran; they were almost in awe of Rafe, as if he was doing some great honour by speaking to them.

Kyle waited until they had moved off, and then joined Rafe. "Who was that?" he asked, casting a glance at the pair as they walked off.

"Hmm? Oh, a couple of guys that wanted to pay homage to the Order for something that a Jedi did to help them in the past. You know, it's nice that in a galaxy that's turned on its head, with the Order practically extinct, someone can find the time to remind you that there's a reason to keep fighting."

Kyle nodded in agreement, looking around the chamber. Atraas had retired to his dais and was reading from a large, leather-bound book. He had pulled a set of almost comically over-large spectacles, adapted for a Hutt's enlarged cranium, from somewhere and appeared either ridiculous, or studious, depending on your mood. Kyle favoured the latter, partly because he was taking a liking to the Hutt's manner, and partly because it paid to keep on the good side of someone like that.

KU-NMC3, the major-domo, stood off to one side, his gaze sweeping the room on a regular basis. They seemed to linger unpleasantly on Rafe and Kyle as they passed, and Kyle found himself trying to return the gaze. The droid had no fear of breaking eye contact if he decided to however, and it was frustrating watching that gaze across the room.

"What's with that damned droid?" Kyle thought aloud. "What's he got against Jedi? And what's that hair for anyway?"

"Well, as far as I've been able to make out," Rafe replied casually, "he doesn't like mystic stuff in any form. The local religion doesn't sit well with him, and neither does the way that Atraas has embraced it so keenly. And Jedi... Well. Droids can't use the Force, can't see it, can't hear it... He really doesn't like that at all.

"As for the hair... I'm still working on that," he admitted. "But I know it isn't his, I know that it doesn't come from a single individual, and I'm fairly sure that it doesn't even come from a single species."

Kyle looked at Rafe, frowning. "Should I ask?"

"I've been talking to people," Rafe said vaguely. "You've just got to ask the right way. On the same basis, I know that Tetri Url always dines in his own quarters, and the major-domo doesn't get on well with him either. But Tetri Url has some kind of authority with the locals... Again I'm still working on that one, but I get the feeling that he didn't come to this world by chance when he got away from you."

"On the subject of people getting away," Kyle said softly, "I noticed that Srah went to your room last night."

"I know," Rafe said, his sense tightly controlled and nearly blank all of a sudden. "She was interested in getting together for old times sake. I wasn't ready for it," he added firmly.

"Fair enough," Kyle said. "Though you're going to have to explain those 'old times' sooner or later."

They stood there for a moment longer, drawing occasional looks from various people, but also a carefully width berth from almost everyone. As Rafe had said, the Jedi Order might nearly have died, but out here there were still good feelings about them.

* * *

"Atten-_shun_!"

The squad of clones came to a parade ground alert, spread in neat rows in front of the Imperial barracks building. Already armour that had been scrupulously cleaned by the clones in response to their ingrained training was acquiring a layer of dust from the early morning winds. Their weapons were suffering the same fate, the glossy black surfaces picking up dust faster than their armour did as the relative electrical charges drew them together.

Srael had a mental note to have this error corrected very soon. His own staff was inactive, only acquiring a charge that might attract dust when it was powered up. Blaster rifles tended to be powered up constantly however, and he had a feeling that the dust and sand would cause issue very soon.

Lieutenant Tacha, to his credit, had foreseen this issue to some degree, binding his sidearm's most vulnerable components in Mesh Tape, apart from the end of the barrel. It would, of course, be hard to cover that without impairing the weapon's function.

"Inquisitor," Tacha said, coming to attention in front of Srael and throwing a salute.

"At ease lieutenant, we have a long day ahead of us," Srael told him. "Have the guards from last night reported in?"

"Yes sir," Tacha replied, falling in beside Srael as they walked across the courtyard.

The Imperial forces had set up their temporary barracks in the fourth, open, side of a courtyard, neatly cutting themselves off from prying eyes. The only access to the courtyard was through two doorways, both leading into buildings that the Imperials held, or through the barracks building itself.

The locals had not taken much offence at this intrusion; the courtyard was effectively public property anyway, and apparently rarely used, except for parking carts for the market. The high walls around it actually reached above the pre-fabricated barracks building, and were all topped with the vanes of moisture vaporators, giving the place a sinister feeling, as if it was some kind of prison.

"The guards report that more pilgrims have been arriving over the night. Nothing from any of them so far. A few people did leave the city; a couple of priests visiting the tomb valleys, and a number of locals with droids heading out to collect dew apparently."

"As I pointed out last night lieutenant, this world has little water available," Srael reminded him. "The locals cannot afford to ignore even such a small source of moisture as dew." He came to a halt in front of the ranks of clones, running a practised eye over them. "How are our people handling the local conditions?"

"Moderately well sir," Tacha replied. "Some cases of dehydration, and a couple of issues with dust inhalation from improperly fitted filter-masks. It's nothing that the medics can't handle at the moment, and I've issued orders for better discipline to be observed in future on such matters. To be honest sir, it's the clones that worry me the most at the moment."

"The clones?" Srael asked, looking over the ranks of clones again, and seeing nothing obvious to object to. "What about them exactly?"

Tacha gritted his teeth before replying, clearly unhappy with what he was about to say. "Sir, the clones' enhanced physiology necessitates a slightly higher food and water consumption than non-cloned humans. It's an unavoidable side effect, and one that we haven't had a problem with before, because we've been able to process water using the ship's recycling facilities easily enough. Without those facilities though, on a dry world like this, our normal rations aren't going to hold up as well as we had originally intended. The local water merchants are already a bit unhappy about the extra load we've put on them."

"What would you recommend?" Srael asked, not happy at this new development either. He could do quite happily without the clones if it was possible, but until the Emperor got around to replacing them, he still needed them. He found himself wishing idly that he could have brought his old team, from before he was found by the Emperor, along in place of the clones.

"We could arrange for a recycling processor to be brought down from the _Stylite_," Tacha suggested. "That would cut our requirements somewhat, though it could cause extra tension locally if they find out about it; this world's been out of touch enough that I don't think that they even know about such things."

"They know about moisture vaporators," Srael remarked. "And they know how to harvest dew, which is a new one on me. I imagine that there is some reason that they don't use the technology. Check around as generally as possible before arranging to bring one down. I'd rather not bring it down here and then have it break almost immediately. Any other options?"

"Well, aside from shipping water back up to the _Stylite_ for recycling there..."

"I'd rather not," Srael replied. "It's bad enough having the _Adema_ hiding behind the moon, without having regular flights out to the asteroid belt to recycle our water. Has captain Bel-Appan managed to fix that issue with his ship's sensor stealth system yet?"

"She says that it's functional again, but his transmission was necessarily concise. I got the impression that she wanted to run some more tests before returning to the solar system. I doubt that we'll need a _Devastator_ class dreadnought at short notice though; the _Adema_ will be more use to us in that regard."

"I agree lieutenant," Srael replied. "Still, it's aggrieving not having access to both support ships when I want them." He sighed. "Okay. Get our troops rotated around their shifts. Get someone else running the detector today; I want you to look into our water issue, and to check out anything that the locals might have on the subject of history about this drought. I'll be reviewing what we have already, and meditating. This promises to be a long run here..."

* * *

With nothing else to do, Kyle had found himself gravitating to the main chamber for most of the day, keeping an eye on proceedings. At first it had just been his own interest that had kept him there, however Atraas had soon realised that one of his regular pilots was hanging around with nothing to do, and had started to consult him on possible issues of freight, of prices, of routes, and of the movements of troops and military and medical supplies.

The medical supplies that he had brought with him on the _Long Shot_ had been redeployed early in the day to a variety of worlds; they had been specialised supplies, rather than general ones, and so wide distribution worked well for them. Other cargoes, of varying legitimacies, passed through the hall, literally, or metaphorically, over the first couple of hours, with business being swift and certain.

Kyle found a nasty side to this however; Atraas made no secret of the fact that he was asking a Jedi for advice, and hinted broadly at the mental powers of detection that the Jedi possessed. Regardless of whether he liked it or not, Kyle found himself being used as a lie detector, either by his knowledge, or his supposed readings of people's emotions. Most of the time Atraas didn't even bother to ask his opinion directly; he might glance in Kyle's direction for a second, as if seeking an opinion, but Kyle sensed that Atraas' attention was always on whoever he was dealing with at the time.

He disliked the idea of being used as a threat in that manner, but also found that he wasn't called upon, even indirectly, as much as he might have been. KU-NMC3 stood at his master's shoulder, announcing clients, captains, and guests as they appeared. But he seemed a veritable storehouse of information himself, able to answer many queries put to him by Atraas, even when the answers seemed positively obscure.

There were a couple of jobs that caught Kyle's eye, and he nearly decided to take them on himself. But the worries about the future were too strong. He remembered one of Master Yoda's lectures about a Jedi being mindful of the future, but not living solely for the future. Now the future was a large an uncertain thing, and he was very worried about it.

He drew him attention back from his musings as KU-NMC3 announced the next set of visitors. Kyle still hadn't worked out how that one worked; the droid never left Atraas' side, and never spoke directly to anyone that Kyle could see. Kyle suspected an internal comlink, hooked into the palace's droids.

"Trader Loktam and Trader Benamet, of the _Setting Sons_," the major-domo declared, his staff inclining towards the largest archway that led into the chamber.

Kyle felt as much as heard the ripple of surprise that went around the chamber at the sight of the two traders that entered through the archway. They were massive figured, easily four or five metres tall, and built like the Wampas that Kyle had seen a statue of at his parent's trading post, down to the horns coming down along the jaw-line from just below the ears, down the to length of the arms, the fur, and the fact that they moved on all fours.

Despite the animalistic appearance, they were clearly advanced; both wore an equipment vest, designed to remain steady whether they were on all fours or standing upright on their hind legs. What looked like anti-tank cannons hung from the belts of both vests, although they probably counted as regular blasters to the pair that carried them. Other equipment, similarly scaled up, was attached to the vests. Both were accompanied by a silvery wraith-droid.

As they stopped in the middle of the hall, one of them stood, lurching up onto two feet. He bowed deeply to Atraas, his hands clasped behind his back as he did, before speaking.

Kyle gritted his teeth. The sound was clearly a language, and was clearly intelligent. But it was unlike anything that Kyle had heard before, heavy in low growls and high whistles and hard vowels, and he found himself floundering a bit, until the initial speech was out of the way. At this point the trader put both his hands carefully into his own mouth, and did... something... Kyle wasn't certain of what it was exactly, but the net result was that a significant part of the trader's lower jaw, including several large incisors, came away and was drawn out into the open. There was a hint of some kind of metalwork around the base of the arrangement, and Kyle guessed just in time that this was a deliberate trick.

"We greet the Lord Atraas," announced the trader. "I am Loktam. I am come bearing the articles of trade, and request the ones who may trade to speak unto."

Kyle blinked in surprise, and found that he wasn't the only one who did so. The Jedi Order might not actually rely on ritual to touch the Force, but there was enough ritual-for-the-sake-of-ritual alongside the necessary ones that Kyle recognised the form. What he didn't recognise, was what the actual response should be.

Neither, quite awkwardly, did anyone else apparently. Even KU-NMC3, whose job it should have been to understand these things, seemed confused by it, and uncertain of how to proceed.

Someone knew though, as a burst of the same language that the two traders had previously spoken echoed around the chamber for a few seconds before breaking off.

Rafe stepped through the crowd, rubbing his jaw as if he had hurt it. "Sorry," he said to the traders. "I can't handle Verostin for long without more of a run-up than that." He bowed to the pair, and spoke as he rose, his tone and language suddenly becoming formal. "Those who may trade will hear your words and your bringings. Your deeds will be heard and your wares will be granted fair purview."

He bowed again, and Loktan returned the bow, both to Rafe and to Atraas. "We thank you for this welcome," he responded formally, before his stance became more relaxed. "I was of certainty that there would be no individual in this palace whom would be of knowledge of the rites of barter. I conducted them only for form's sake."

"I ran into a trade mission from besTrob a few years ago," Rafe admitted. "Are you going to need me around to conduct other rites? I am only a guest here..."

"The first rite is of the greatest import," Loktan replied. "If your host is of such a mindedness then we are of agreement to conduct of further rites."

Atraas had been trying to follow this, but easily spotted that his input was needed here. "If Jedi Belwynn is willing to conduct any necessary rituals then I have no objection to them," the Hutt declared magnanimously. "I would hear more of these rituals before he makes this decision however," he added guardedly. "And I would hear what you wish to trade."

"We are required of weapons," Loktan announced. "We are desirous to purchase in immensity, of armaments that are of unseen size, that are of size for a combatant, that are of size for the demolition of vehicles and of structures."

"We've just finished one war," Rafe objected. "Are you people planning on starting another one?"

Benamet lurched upright, pulling the weapon from his belt and holding it up. At the same time he pulled out a standard blaster from one of the vest's pockets. The blaster was a heavy model, of the kind that might be used by police expecting to face terrorists or by criminals expecting to face military forces. Compared to the larger weapon though, it looked almost insignificant.

"We are of will to be purchasing of armaments for use of human sized personages," Loktan explained, gesturing to the obvious size different between the two guns.

"That can be arranged," Atraas declared, his tone agreeable, although both Jedi picked up on the urgent thoughts that flickered in their direction; so far the dealings today had all been above board and legitimate ones. Now Atraas was faced with the issue he had hoped to avoid, that of Jedi finding out how deeply he was involved in various black market issues. Kyle did his best to ignore it, and Rafe merely bowed, stepping back into the crowd and vanishing once more.

* * *

Out in the corridor once more, Rafe sighed. He wasn't entirely happy with his day so far, and that little chat hadn't helped matters. The person he nearly walked into didn't help either, despite the fact that Rafe had been looking for him all morning.

"Intriguing that was," Tetri Url declared, his hover seat putting his eye-level slightly above Rafe's own. "Know their species, I do not."

"They're Trobi," Rafe informed him. "They don't mingle well with other species because of their physical size. And I'm worried if they do go into the arms business, because those blasters they were wearing aren't conventional models by any stretch of the imagination."

"Sophisticated they appeared," Url said thoughtfully. "Why buy weapons do they?"

"I don't know," Rafe told him. "They're very pragmatic by their nature; Loktan is positively _bizarre_ by their standards if he went ahead with the rite despite knowing that there was probably going to be no one around to reply properly. With Dooku and Grievous gone and the droids shutting themselves down, the war is effectively over. Which... That means that the Trobi know something that we don't, because they wouldn't be buying weapons unless there was going to be someone to sell them to."

"Intriguing it is," Tetri Url agreed. "Also intriguing it is, that look for me you do. Wish to talk you do?" the diminutive figure asked sharply, leaning forwards very abruptly almost into Rafe's face.

"Yes I do," Rafe said, taking a step back so that he wasn't nose-to-nose with Url. "Which is why I'm here without Kyle."

"Know of Reeves I do. Have nothing to do with him will I," Url announced.

"I'm not asking you to," Rafe replied. "But I need to talk to you though."

Tetri Url considered him carefully, a shrewd expression on his aged features. "What wish you to speak of?"

"An Eye," Rafe replied. "An Eye of fire that sees into the Now, speaks of destiny, and levelled every population centre on Yeghast a couple of days ago. Kyle tells me that you got away with records as well as some of the forbidden documents. I need to look through them for anything about this, because I think that it might be following Kyle and myself, and I think that it's more dangerous than Palpatine at the moment."

Url had looked pensive at Rafe's description, until the mention of Palpatine came up. At that, his expression turned stormy. "Dangerous, he is not!" Url declared, his tone as thunderous as someone that comically diminutive and with such mangled grammar could manage to be. The air tensed around Rafe, and he was certain that the lights down the passageway flickered and dimmed slightly. The Dark Side shimmered around Url like a three dimensional shadow that was slowly outgrowing that from which it was cast.

"Powerful he is," Url continued. "Restore order to this galaxy he will. See this you shall," he insisted angrily. With once final glare, he turned the hover seat around, vanishing silently off down the passageway as he did.

Rafe ran a finger around his collar to loosen it, taking as deep breath as he did. The tension leaked out of the air, and he no longer felt like he was standing in a pressure cooker. Whatever else Tetri Url was, he was powerful, and worryingly deep into the Dark Side.

As Rafe turned and headed down a different passageway, two sets of eyes watched him go; one mechanical but disturbingly organic, and one half organic and half mechanical.

Neither set had good thoughts behind its gaze.

* * *

The archive hall was little more than a set of parallel passageways, leading nowhere and all lined with books, datacards, scrolls and charts. Surprisingly, for such a place, it was almost totally free of dust, which may have had something to do with the primitive airlock arrangement at the doorway. Glowpanels, tuned to a low setting, were placed so as to grant good reading light.

The pair of locals by the door had looked Tacha up and down carefully when he entered, one of them making annoyed clucking noises about the dust and sand that he brought in with him. The other stepped forwards, her hunched form clad in the most formal clothes that Tacha had seen on any of the natives so far. Even these though were simple garments, strung together from the hides of local grazers.

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze with an air which suggested that she was not impressed by his uniform. "Will you be reading today?" she asked, her Basic accented and soft, but clearer than Tacha had heard some humans manage. As she asked, she proffered a pair of gloves to him, made of a soft grey material.

He shook his head. "I was informed that Inquisitor Srael was going to be visiting this place. Is he still here?"

The librarian gave a faint, vague smile, and nodded slowly. "The most learned Inquisitor is in the third aisle," she informed him. "Please, do not touch anything, unless you are wearing the gloves," she added, pressing the pair that she held into his hand.

He looked at the gloves, surprised at how soft they were, but disgruntled at the need to adhere to such customs. Nodding a curt thanks to the pair, he set off down to the third passageway.

Inquisitor Srael was half-way along the passage, which stretched a deceptively short distance into the hillside that the archive hall was carved into. At a glance Tacha had guessed that the first passage, and the others like it, extended only a dozen metres or so. As he walked along the third one however, he realised that this was not the case; each one started out three metres high at the one end, and the entire affair, including the shelves, rose in height as they went further into the rock face, the entire affair generating the illusion of a much shorter distance than the thirty metres of passageway that was actually present.

Srael had abandoned the body armour he had been wearing the day before, in exchange for a light uniform, similar to the one that Tacha wore, though with an all-temperature cloak thrown over one shoulder. He wore a set of gloves, identical to those that Tacha had been given, and was holding a hide-bound tome with a care and delicacy that appeared almost out of place to Tacha, who had seen the state of the combat training simulators after Srael had been practising in them.

"This world has a fascinating history," Srael offered as Tacha approached. "Almost overnight their culture seemed to shift from being aristocratic in a lush world, not unlike Naboo, to being run by a set of shaman, based around an interest in death, with almost no water to speak of. I'm getting close to the why of that, I believe."

"Yes sir," Tacha said, diplomatically. The Inquisitor, for someone charged with hunting down Jedi, seemed to spend far too much time on such mysteries to Tacha's mind. "On the subject of missing water, I've spoken to some of the locals, and a couple of the off-worlders that have set up locally."

"And? What do they have to say on the subject?" Srael asked without looking up from the book.

Tacha hesitated. He wasn't entirely certain that he credited the news himself. "Apparently recycling processors have been tried before sir. I'm not certain about how credible the reports are..."

"Lieutenant, I'm currently researching a feat of terraforming that has defied the best minds of the Republic for hundreds of years, and finding myself buried under the mythology," Srael replied. "I'm currently feeling open to things that might otherwise seem incredible."

"Well sir," Tacha continued reluctantly, "apparently any large quantity of water that people try to reprocess in that manner... It vanishes. It isn't a normal evaporation process, and no one seems able to explain it. I wouldn't even have given the reports a sceptical credibility if it weren't for the fact that the storage facilities that we have here are reporting an unexplained reduction that would be consistent with those reports.

"The locals apparently have a way of preventing it, though I find that equally hard to credit. Apparently the shamans perform some rituals, and the water is protected for a day. There were a number of them going around whilst I was around the town."

"That would be consistent with what I have found," Srael agreed. "Apparently someone cursed this world... Or something of that manner. The local shamans are formed from a cult that opposed this in some way. I'm still researching it, but the references appear consistent enough. Enquire as to the possibility of the shamans paying our barracks a visit. If we're going to be here for a few days it can't help to observe local wisdom in these matters."

Tacha frowned, and then nodded. Working with the Inquisitor made such things more credible, but didn't actually help that much. At least it gave the order official sanction.

Looking around the shelves, Tacha realised that all of the books down this section were paper, bound in leather covers. It amazed him that so many could survive in such a hot and dry climate as this world subjected them to. Curious as to just how well preserved they really were, he reached out-

His hand was knocked away, almost as if someone had slapped it aside. Now thoroughly confused, he looked around for the source.

"Use the gloves," Srael suggested, without looking up from his reading. "Both of the two natives at the door are sensitive to the Force, and this entire place has been shaped through the Force somehow. Touch a book in here and they know about it. Touch one without wearing those gloves, and they could probably do something very unpleasant to us before we left."

Tacha looked at the Inquisitor, uncertain now of whether it had been the Inquisitor or the librarians that had knocked his hand aside. He decided however, that it was probably safer not asking.

* * *

_Rafe? You there_?

Rafe frowned as the voice flittered through his mind, confused not at having heard a voice in that manner, but at the specific voice. He hadn't actually been aware that Srah was capable of sending her thoughts telepathically like that.

He paused, thrown sufficiently that he had to cough to cover his stumbled step, and move around the table to re-examine his next move. The game was one of strategy, but on a larger, and more versatile stage than dejarik's circular board allowed. It was amazing how far the odds were being stacked in his favour by the people around the table; people were crowding around to see the local champions challenge a Jedi, and Rafe had managed to avoid letting himself be drawn into anything involving cards. The story of the _Helix Pathway_, and the Council's uncertainty in how to deal with such a situation was enough of an incentive to avoid it. Besides, he wouldn't know what to do with a ship if he won one.

Trying not to give away the fact that he was speaking telepathically to someone, or might have been doing anything other than merely playing the game, Rafe called back. _Srah? I didn't know that you could speak telepathically_.

It quickly became clear that she couldn't, as such. Her reply was a jumble, mostly incoherent and unintelligible. That didn't entirely surprise Rafe, who knew how hard it was for Jedi to learn to speak telepathically; some could spend years learning just to send a coherent message. Symbology was the key to it. That and knowing the symbology that the person you were speaking to might use.

Srah, acting more by luck than judgement or training, had managed a split-second of coherent contact, and now what little coherence there was, was insufficient for Rafe to get any idea of what she was actually saying. He tried, in vain, to pick up something... To pick up...

_A distant figure, clad in powered armour, paused suddenly in the midst of a kata, both ends of the staff he held glowing faintly. The Force moved around him, the shadows he cast in the air and in the Force itself a warning of how he dipped into the Force._

_He turned, as if distracted by some distant sound. His frown deepened for a second, and then cleared as he drew the Force around him, his gaze roaming, searching..._

Rafe drew back from the vision, the urgency of it driving him to abandon all pretence of paying attention to the game. His hand groped for the comlink at his belt, drawing it and thumbing two random channels before finding the one for the comlink that Srah should have been wearing.

"Srah. Whatever you're doing, stop it," he called into the device, looking around frantically as he did so. The vision had been through the Now, and had been awfully close; whoever that vision had been of had been on the same plant, maybe even in the same city. And he had been able to sense the telepathic noise that Srah was generating. If he was well trained, he might already have pinpointed them well enough to at least know to search the palace.

The telepathic noise cut off, although not nearly abruptly enough for Rafe's liking, and after a few seconds Srah came in on the line.

"_Rafe, what's wrong? I didn't think that I was that bad at it..._"

"You need some practise," he admitted, "especially on keeping the conversation private. Someone heard you. I don't know who but... He's on this planet, probably even in this city right now. Where are you?"

There was a pause, just for a split second. Shipjackers didn't tend to stay in the business long if they couldn't adapt quickly though.

"_In my quarters_," she informed him, suddenly calm and businesslike. "_I've got someone here that you would want to talk to_."

"I'll be there," Rafe informed her, before thumbing off the comlink and looking at the people around the table. "Really sorry, I'll be back later. But I think that my cover was nearly blown."

As he hurried off he was aware of the disappointed expressions of those around the table. One set of eyes that followed him were a lot less friendly however.

* * *

"It was somewhere inside the city," Srael declared. He made a powerful figure in the operations control room of the barracks building, given that he had neglected to change out of his powered armour, whilst everyone else was still in regular uniform. Even the pair of clones that stood by the door, despite wearing full armour and helmets and carrying quite impressive rifles, failed to project such raw power.

"Are you certain sir?" one cadet asked, his tone nervous.

"Tell me cadet," Srael said as he turned on the young man. "How much training have you had in using the Force?"

The cadet shrank back as much as his high-backed seat would allow on its fixed base. "Uh, none sir. Aside from some conversations with my sister-in-law that is."

Srael frowned, caught out by that one. "And what training did she have?"

"Well, none as such," he admitted. "But she worked at the temple on Courscant as a cleaner," he continued doggedly. "Sometimes they would ask her to join them for classes so that they could train for working with people who weren't sensitive to the Force."

Srael paused, and then nodded. "A fair point then," he admitted. The cadet relaxed marginally, the threat of imminent punishment no longer hanging over him. "But misleading. I know that this came from within the city, because I have the training to recognise it as doing so. I cannot say precisely how far away it was as yet..." He paused to consider. "At least two of them," he declared after some thought. "One, was not a Jedi. I would suggest that they were an adult, skipped over for training by the Order as I was. The other was much better trained, and clearly knew how to cover themselves better than the first did... Most likely a Jedi."

"But how could they have got into the city?" one of the other cadets asked. "We made a complete sweep of the city when we arrived and found nothing. We've been guarding all of the entrances ever since then."

"Despite which at least two people who are sensitive to the Force have managed to get in," Srael pointed out sternly. "And so we ask how could they manage that? How do you enter a city without being seen by those who guard the gate?

"Bribery is the obvious answer, were it not for the fact that I would personally visit the sentence of a lifetime in the mines of Kessel upon anyone foolish enough to accept such a bribe." He ignored the nervous looks that went around the room as he continued. "In some places the sewers might be the next answer. But on this world the sewers would barely be big enough to supply air, let alone allow someone access to the city.

"And so we consider other means... A ship? Unlikely, given our presence here and the tightly walled nature of the city. That wall also cuts out the idea of a cross-country effort, as it limits access to a few places. Perhaps they could have scaled the hills and come over the ridge into the valley and bypassed the wall that way. But our sentries would have spotted it, even if the locals themselves didn't.

"That leaves ways into the city that we do not know about," he concluded. "And so we ask ourselves, what ways might exist that we do not know about? Obviously that is hard to answer," he admitted, "because we don't know about them. But we _can_ guess. Smugglers get everywhere, and according to our intelligence agents there are at least five major and two minor groups operating on this world, none of whom would be beyond finding a hidden way into the city."

The first cadet spoke hesitantly. "That would mean... Some kind of tunnel then? That's the only conceivable way to bypass all of the problems."

"Exactly," Srael agreed. "And so..."

Suddenly finding himself on the spotlight again, the cadet swallowed nervously, but rallied well. "We could perform geological surveys of the area," he suggested.

"A possibility," Srael admitted. "But we don't have that kind of equipment here, and such a search would ultimately present us with more trouble than it was worth, since it would likely turn the criminal elements against us. If this was a long-term operation then it might be wise to know such things, but for now we need those people on our side. And so..."

This time the cadet appeared truly stumped, until a new thought occurred to him. "We don't look for how they got in; we look for _who_ got them in."

"Exactly!" Srael declared. "Recall our intelligence agents from the other cities. I want this city turned upside down. But quietly," he added. "There is at least one Jedi around here, and they can sense danger when it threatens them. So we cannot attack directly. Instead, we will seek out smugglers, and through them discover the names of those who would bring a Jedi into the city unobserved, and how they would achieve it. At the same time, they must have arrived here by ship, and so we will begin a full search of records for all ships that landed on this world since Order 66 was instigated."

He turned to leave the room, and then turned back to the cadet. "Your name?"

"Cadet Danis Cruze," came the quick reply.

"Very good cadet. I want you to head up the search of the ships. And should you remember anything that might prove useful in tracking these Jedi, be certain to make us aware of it."

* * *

"Was it another Jedi?" Kyle asked, standing beside the central pillar of Srah's room.

Unlike the pair of Jedi, Srah had been set up in a more crowded room, sharing it with her group; even Gates had a bedroom, as allowed under some local custom regarding droids. There had been a weariness of repetition to the major-domo's attitude as the droid directed them there, suggesting that this was the regular quarters that Srah used.

All of them had gathered there, along with someone that Kyle didn't recognise specifically, but whom he recognised as a career spacer easily enough. Srah's team lounged, whilst Rafe and Kyle were standing.

"I don't think that it was a Jedi," Rafe replied. "There was no hint of a Lightsabre being around, there was too much armour... And he wasn't trained right for it. I didn't need to see the way that the Dark Side hung around him to tell that there was something wrong on that front. He wasn't a Jedi, but he had been trained to use the Force in some way."

"So how blown is your cover exactly?" Srah asked.

"Not that much probably," Kyle suggested. "Atraas probably wouldn't turn us over to a random Darksider just like that."

"Assuming that it is a 'random Darksider'," the unknown guest offered.

Kyle looked at him properly. The figure was humanoid, with white hair and eyes that were equally white, showing no sign of a pupil or colour. His skin was the pale shade of spacers, but had enough pink to it to suggest that this individual found his way onto planets often enough to retain a healthy colouring. The state of his skin, which the locals would have called 'water-fat', was a good indicator that this person was either a local, and obscenely rich, or was new to Neuook; even Rafe and Kyle were starting to look a bit dried out, despite having only been on the planet for less than a day.

Rafe cocked an eyebrow at Srah, and inclined his head towards their guest. They had been so busy with the issue of this potential threat that they had effectively ignored the other guest, taking it on trust that Srah would have asked him to leave if it wasn't appropriate for him to be present for this conversation.

"I am Captain Askan, of the _Dolma Caravan_," the figure introduced himself, having caught the gesture. "Captain Heid informs me that you were asking about individuals who might know of the fate of Yeghast, or might even have witnessed it firsthand." A hand with four fingers, two arranged almost as thumbs, and all of which bore nails that were almost talons, was pressed to his chest. "I am such a person."

"So you know about Yeghast," Rafe said slowly. "_And_ you seem to know something about the person that we're talking about."

"Indeed. I believe that you may have seen him already, if you approached the city recently," Askan replied, leaning back in his seat with his fingers steepled in front of his face. A faint, almost cunning smile settled itself on his features. "A man associated with the clones; the Imperial forces, as they are calling themselves. He appears to command them in fact. A powerful armoured figure, who traders that have entered this city speak of with awe."

"That sounds about right," Rafe muttered. "Which means that he's probably got some quite heavy support to back him up."

"Might Atraas not rethink his protection of you then?" Sthynn asked from the corner that he had settled into to nurse a glass of something green and viscous. "Such people as the Hutt are rarely intimidated by those less powerful than themselves, but one who commands clones would command warships as well."

"You will forgive me," Askan said, standing, "if on that note, I leave you. The thing that I came to you about appears pressing enough without the army becoming involved as well." He pulled a small disc from his pocket and held it out to Kyle. "I hope that this helps you in some way sir. The resolution is not what it might be, as we were not expecting to have to make such a recording. But I can tell you what you will see: on the arc of the world, is a hole. To make such a hole a thing must be truly massive, and yet it cut this hole. As we appeared it seemed to light up the world beneath it, with beams of light, and with a wave of fire that struck from beneath it. I would not face such a thing again willingly, and if it hunts for you, then I would advise you to hide as best you can. I have never seen a world die before," he added softly, "and I do not wish to see it again."

Askan left silently, and the room was subdued for a moment as Kyle considered the holoprojector in his hand. "This is bad, isn't it?" he said slowly.

"Things could be worse," Srah assured him. "I want to know how fast we should run right now."

"We shouldn't," Rafe declared. "If this person is working with the clones, then he's got access to the Force Detectors. And it probably means that he's had at least some training from Palpatine... He's probably narrowed his search down to this city already, just from that glimpse he got of us. And he has to know what we got in here past the clones. That means that he'll be able to make a guess at how we got here as well. If we run for the spaceport now, we'll probably find it crawling with clones wanting to know why we're leaving so suddenly. We'd need a very solid excuse for getting past them without being checked by the Force Detectors."

"So we remain here, waiting for him to close in and catch us along with you?" Gates said sarcastically.

"No," Kyle declared. "We prepare. I've got a couple of jobs that I could have picked up today for shipping. If I accept one then the _Long Shot_ has a legitimate reason to leave. Rafe is part of my crew, and you lot don't have a ship now that you've handed the _Vagrant Soul_ over to Atraas, so I can give you a lift reasonably legitimately if you wanted to come."

"And what about when they recognise your ship?" Srah asked. "If this person works out when you turned up here-"

"Credit me with _some_ sense shipjacker," Kyle retorted. "My parents knew that I might need to fly undercover when they gave me that ship. I landed under false credentials, and the engine is jinxed sufficiently to make matching the engine exhaust tricky, if not impossible."

Srah looked impressed at that one. "I thought that jinxing the engines like that was impossible," she declared.

"My uncle found a way," Kyle admitted, a faint smile coming to his lips at the memory of his uncle regaling his parents and Master Zane with that tale during one of Kyle's visits to the trading post. "Anyway, there's nothing there to connect it to any potential Jedi except for the time that it arrived at, assuming that you can count that."

"They might," Rafe warned him. "But we should still sit here. If you're parents were as concerned about your health as you give the impression that they were, then there's not a lot that anyone can do to shut that ship down if you want it to start up." Kyle nodded in agreement. "So we're in no danger of being stuck here. The only issue therefore, is how long do we wait?"

"Well from what you've said, we should wait until they're inside the palace and then scarper," Srah replied. "We might not have a plan for escaping as such, but they won't have anything coherent to react to then."

"True. In the mean time we need to have at least some idea of how to escape," Kyle declared. "I'll talk to... Damn," he muttered as he remembered something. "Rafe, you and I have an appointment," he said.

"We do?" Rafe replied, slightly surprised by this news.

"Yeah," Kyle admitted somewhat sheepishly. "There are a couple of guys that were going to be doing some sparring tonight, and I asked if I could join in. It wouldn't have hurt," he added hastily. "We've got those training sabres with us, and everyone here knows what we are already, and that we're under Atraas' protection. It just sounded like it would be some harmless practise."

"Only now it might not be," Rafe pointed out. "Rumours of Jedi would have been bad enough; now they'll have real Lightsabres flashing around to look for. Any chance we could call off?"

"Not without looking suspicious," Kyle pointed out. "So far no one here knows about this guy looking for us. The best thing that we can do is be as calm about this as possible, and give as little hint as possible that we know about him."

"From the way that Rafe cut off and told me to shut up that's not going to be likely, is it?" Srah said. "For what it's worth, you should be safe. Or as safe as you could be given that Atraas went and blew your cover in front of all of his guests. He's smart though. He wouldn't have done that in front of people that he didn't trust not to keep that secret."

"He cannot know everyone here that well, surely," Sthynn objected.

"He might not, but the secret's blown anyway," Kyle pointed out. "We might as well just make the most of the situation; if we can get in with these guys then that's at the very least some more friendly feeling towards us, so less chance of someone trying to turn us in."

Rhyydonning rumbled something, and Rafe cast a querying glance at Srah. "He said that we might as well go ahead with it," she translated. "I'd agree with that," she added with a sigh. "It's not like you can make things worse, as such..."

* * *

A scrawny figure, clad in an ill-fitting and ragged spacer jumpsuit hurried through the palace, a battered holorecorder in one hand. In his other hand he clutched at a chain, strung with various talismans from different places; the carved bone deaths head of the local cults hung beside the hexagramic ward of protective influence of the Ishtaet Brotherhood, which was getting tangled with the artfully crafted chain-linked sigil of influence that had come from one of the Undercity cults on Coruscant whose worship of the sun as a strange and divine entity was not all that incredible given the circumstances that they lived in.

His breathing coming in short gulps, Duncan stumbled to a stop outside one of the rear chambers of the palace, buried partway into the cliff face that surrounded the city. Already quite a crowd had been drawn here, and Duncan was forced to nudge his way in past several people before he was able to see clearly enough to use the holorecorder.

Two fights were taking place in the middle of the chamber, where a large area had been cleared out. In each fight, a solid metal blade was matched against the incandescent majesty of a Lightsabre. To the left, a massive sword that would have been comically oversized in the hands of anyone other than its current owner, whose armour appeared to have been constructed from battleship hull armour, was pitted against a green blade in the hands of the Corellian Jedi. To the right a lighter blade, a mere wisp compared to the heavier one on the other side of the room, was set against a yellow Lightsabre.

To the left the fight moved quickly, but in a staggered manner; heavy blows raged down from the metal blade, and the Jedi was forced to move quickly to dodge the blows as they rained down. But the blows came at a steady pace, forcing the fight to move in regular jolts as each devastating attack was avoided in turn, with little room for a counter-attack.

Counters were present though, and Duncan was startled to see the Lightsabre drawing sparks as it struck both the blade and the armour. Miraculously, it never seemed to penetrate either, as if they had somehow been rendered impervious to the blades that could supposedly cut through anything.

The other fight proceeded at a more varied pace. It was less of a test of brute strength, and more of a test of wit, as both fighters almost danced around each other. Here the Jedi was clearly less skilled with a Lightsabre, moving perhaps less certainly, but his opponent clearly had no desire to make use of this weakness; words were as much weapons here as the blades were, and the rapid clashes of blades were interspersed with critiques and comments about style and effectiveness.

Here, there were fewer actual body hits, though the Lightsabre and the foil made contact at least every few seconds. And the foil, though looking perhaps a bit battered, was no worse for the contact than if it had been up against a regular sword.

"How are they doing that?" Duncan asked allowed as he panned the holorecorder back and forth across the fights.

"Doing what?" a Duro asked, peering over Duncan's shoulder to see the holorecorder's small screen.

"The Lightsabres," Duncan replied. "I thought that they would cut through anything."

"The Jedi are using _training_ Lightsabres," the Duro replied, sounding almost proud about something, as if this was some secret knowledge. "They cannot cut through solid materials as a normal Lightsabre would."

Duncan frowned at that. Jedi using Lightsabres that could not cut through things would make sense if those Lightsabres were for training. But it seemed bizarre still that they should have them; surely such things should be at an academy for younger Jedi?

Neither fight showed any sign of running down soon; the Jedi were clearly physically fit, and well matched to their opponents. Little flourishes and additions kept things interesting, and the crowd were a long way from being bored.

Clutching the chain with its protective wards even tighter in his hand, Duncan began taking more detailed individual shots of the Jedi. They both moved too quickly for him to follow easily though, and he had trouble focusing properly.

"Is your eye meant to do that?" the Duro asked him suddenly.

Duncan glanced at the Duro, and then felt the annoyingly familiar sensation of warm blood trickling onto his cheek. Angrily, he pulled a clean rag from his pocket, dabbing the blood away from the ill-fitting mounting of his mechanical eye. "No it's not," he explained. "It's an old problem. I never got this thing fitted properly."

As he went back to recording, he caught sight of a distant figure across the chamber, familiar even from that fleeting glimpse.

Looking back, he wondered if he had been mistaken; they had warned him when he got such a cheap eye that it might produce false images. Then he managed to get the image resolved properly, and his breath caught in his throat for a second.

The distant figure had turned away from him, but as he focused on her she seemed to realise that she was being looked at and turned around to look straight at him. Her eyes flickered back and forth for a few seconds, before she spotted him specifically, and a look of recognition flashed across her face.

"Srah Heid," Duncan muttered to himself, realising that all of the protective wards in the galaxy wouldn't hide him now. It didn't matter how fast she moved though; he only needed to make it out of the palace. The Jedi couldn't leave the palace, and once he was outside he knew precisely where he was going.

The Imperial barracks wasn't that hard to find after all...

* * *

A desperate flash of emotion was all the warning that Rafe knew he would get without being able to speak to Srah directly. Something nearby had just gone horribly wrong, and he need to find out what it was.

Jumping back a couple of steps, Rafe raised his hand. "I fear I must withdraw for a few moments," he declared. "This evening has been well spent thus far, and I shall return for another helping, but," he added, "there are some things even a Jedi cannot avoid..."

For the humans, and a number of other species in the crowd, this was the right kind of humour to use at this time of night, and he left to general applause, as a new fighter stepped in to take his place. Even as Kyle continued fighting, Rafe could sense his fellow Jedi's question at the sudden change.

_Something's come up_, he replied simply, before diving through the crowd to where Srah was waiting for him.

"What happened?" he asked.

Srah flicked her head across the chamber towards a door on the opposite side, and then pulled Rafe towards the door on their side. "An old enemy of mine; his name's Duncan Essan, and he's trouble. A couple of times in the past he's sold out jobs that I was trying to work on in exchange for the rewards from the authorities. Somehow he always gets back into the underworld system afterwards, despite always making his money selling people out. If I'd known that he was here I'd have warned you before..."

"You think that he would sell us out?"

"Guarantee it," she replied sourly. "He had a holorecorder with him, which means that he's probably looking for more than just a rumour to pass to the clones. He spotted me though, and scampered."

"He's probably heading for the main entrance," Rafe guessed, reaching out through the Force. On the far side of the chamber, heading away from the door, he could sense something. It was almost a person, but blurred and discoloured, as if viewed through a distorted lens. "I can... There's _something_ there," he declared. "I can't see him clearly though."

"He has a thing for cults," Srah admitted. "He picks up all sorts of junk from them. Maybe he picked up something that actually worked."

"Well it's not working properly now that I know to look for it," Rafe informed her. "He's heading out though, so I'd better hurry."

Rafe pulled the Force into himself, allowing it to flow through him and reinvigorate his body as it strengthened and focused his mind. He started jogging, but almost immediately changed to running, quickly accelerating past the point where any non-Jedi human would be able to keep up with him. Corridors blurred around him as his perception focused on that faint patch of thoughts that didn't quite exist in the Force; not enough to hide it, but enough that fear or apprehension might be dulled beyond the level that would be noticeable.

Skidding around the final corner, Rafe pulled himself back to more normal speeds, seeing his target a dozen metres down the corridor; a red-haired human in a faded jumpsuit. A single cybernetic eye marred his not-bad-looking features. In one hand he grasped a fairly gaudy set of trinkets attached to a chain, whilst in the other he held a weapon of some kind that Rafe didn't immediately recognise. Duncan seemed to realise that he was in danger an instant before Rafe activated his Lightsabre, and was already turning any firing even as Rafe began to move forwards.

It is common knowledge, at least amongst people that have seen Jedi in a fire-fight and lived to tell, that a Lightsabre will deflect blaster fire. How much and how accurately varies greatly from Jedi to Jedi, and even then it can change depending on other circumstances. Overwhelming a Jedi by sheer brute force of firepower was possible, but a single person would be unlikely to manage it.

At the same time, any Jedi can be trained for at least a minimal danger sense, allowing them to anticipate attacks, or other threats to themselves, before they can actually become seriously dangerous, and often allowing the Jedi to negate the threat in some way. Even spying on a Jedi could be made problematic, as they would spot such a hazard to their health early on.

Even Seekers, blind to the greater flow of the future, were granted a couple of seconds of warning of attacks, most often from their connection to the Now rather than from some glimpse of the future. Such a warning was generally more specific in its directionality, though less so regarding a possible solution.

Even knowing this however, Rafe was nearly wrong-footed by the flash of danger that he got from that weapon, which drove him to hurl himself to one side, not even bothering to try to deflect the attack with his Lightsabre.

Something passed down the corridor through the space that Rafe had occupied, with a noise like three hundred discordant guitars playing a chord simultaneously. The paving in the flooring cracked, and the wall behind where Rafe had stood shattered in a two metre wide circle.

Coughing amidst the cloud of dust, Rafe pulled himself upright, wondering what kind of weapon that might have been. He had heard of sonic weaponry before, and knew that a Lightsabre wouldn't be able to deflect the 'bolt' of sound that they spat, but this was something very different.

Casting about with the Force, he picked up Essan's presence again as the man started running once more. He deactivated his Lightsabre away, knowing that it would be no use at this point, and then dived from cover, propelling himself across the passageway to the limited cover offered by another pillar. As he reached the pillar, his danger sense flared again, and the pillar seemed to explode around him as Essan fired on it.

"Essan! Don't do this!" Rafe shouted, allowing his words to flow into the Force as he said them in the hope that this might help.

For a second the figure hurrying down the corridor hesitated, as if swayed by those words. Then he raised the weapon again, and Rafe had a split second to pull himself back into cover as two more shots pounded into the pillar, taking out most of it and the structural integrity of the wall beside it in the process.

As the roof began to collapse, Rafe hurled a telepathic warning to Kyle, retaining enough presence of mind to avoid broadcasting enough for their enemy to hear him, and dived once more from cover, hurling himself across the corridor. Without sufficient leverage to get properly height to clear the distance, he pulled the Force around himself, shaping it into a channel that drove him far faster than a simple jump would have done, and which took him not only into cover, but cleared most of the distance between himself and Essan.

He sprawled, rather than landing properly – such moves were normally Kyle's remit, and were rarely practised if at all – but drew himself into cover and rolled to his feet before Essan had a chance to target him. He hesitated long enough for the first three shots to pound into the pillar, and then looked upward sharply as the roof creaked ominously above him.

Essan picked up on the creak as well, and hesitated, nervousness radiating even through the peculiar barrier that protected him.

Rafe stretched out through the Force, sensing the strength of the structure around and above him. He found, in an instant, that he was probably standing in the safest place in the corridor right now; the patterns of stress through the walls radiated away from his position, leaving him in a situation that was still precarious, but not immediately life threatening.

Conversely Essan, frozen to inaction by the conflicting instincts to run and to take out the Jedi that was chasing him and unshielded from the more haphazard chaos of the universe by the Force as Rafe was, was standing in the worst possible place in the corridor. Rafe could see that in a few seconds Essan would be buried under quite a lot of rubble that would bring down the rest of the corridor.

Jedi reflexes, strength, and speed, combined with the raw power of the Force in full flow, would easily be enough to carry Rafe clear and beyond harm's way. Certainly no one would blame him for simply running under such circumstances; Essan was not only a threat to his personal survival, but a threat to the possibility of rebuilding the Order and to stopping the Eye of Fire as well. It would be hard to find a cold logical reason to keep him alive, especially when rescuing him might actually endanger Rafe's own life if he wasn't able to clear the collapse properly in time.

_Best to leave him_, whispered the chorus of the Force into the back of his mind. _Get away and leave him. He's best left for dead before he gets you killed. No one would know; no one would blame you. Just leave it a second longer and it'll all be over_...

A cold feeling ran through Rafe as he heard the seductive whispers around him. He had felt the Dark Side before, and had dipped into it once or twice just for the experience as any Padawan was liable to do. Only once had he heard the Dark Side speak to him like this. Only once had he dared to listen to the beguiling siren song. And ever since it had left him sick to his stomach, no matter how lightly he might try to pass it off to other people.

_Never again_, he replied, turning and propelling himself from cover, wrapping himself once more in the Force as he collided with Essan. The Force hummed around him like a live power cable, the exhilarating feeling of such raw energy setting his nerves aflame and lighting up the entire world to his eyes.

The sheer weight of it all overwhelmed the wards around Essan as they came into contact, giving Rafe a clear view of the man's thoughts and intents. There was no doubt that the man had intended to sell out both of the Jedi, despite Atraas' protection and the likely reprisals from the underworld classes. There was no doubt that the man was a creature of the Dark Side as much as any non-Force User could be, his every thought and deed tied to the single thought of betrayal. And there was no doubt that he would try to kill Rafe the instant he got the chance again.

None of this mattered to Rafe as he drove them both through the air, the chorus of the Light Side resounding off his soul and warming his heart as he flew, driving onwards down the length of the corridor amidst the falling rubble and debris. He flew well past the edge of the downfall before letting up and allowing the Force to flow away from him, landing hard in the process.

Essan cushioned his fall somewhat, and Rafe flipped over him, using what remained of the energy from the Force to push himself and land properly, turning fast as he did so that he was facing Essan. As the man got up, Rafe reached out with the Force, yanking the peculiar blaster away from him before he got any ideas about using it again, and drew his Lightsabre once more.

"Surrender now," he ordered, pushing his words once more through the Force. His tone brokered no discussion, and the radiant yellow blade in his hand added a weight to his words that matched the emphasis given to it by the Force.

* * *

"Something just happened," Srael murmured, looking out into the twilight.

"Sir?" Tacha looked around, and then realised that the Inquisitor wasn't seeing things with his eyes at the moment.

"They're somewhere in this city right now," Srael said softly. "One of them at least... I could feel him drawing on the Force, fighting for his life." He sighed. "Not enough for me to get a location, beyond it being within this city."

"Our intelligence agents haven't turned up anything yet," Tacha offered. "There aren't many places that they haven't looked now, and if, as you say, this Jedi was fighting for their life then it's likely that someone who won't be on their side will have seen it. Should I post a public bounty?"

"Hardly," Srael replied. "The regular bounties being offered by various groups haven't been sufficient to flush out these Jedi so far, so one more won't help very much. No... We will need to resort to other tactics if we are to find these Jedi."

Srael turned away from the window, and stepped across the room to the door and out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard that the barracks building was blockading. In the area that they had claimed as their own, a set of clones were engaged in some 'off-duty recreation', otherwise known as combat drills.

"Look at them," Srael said with a sneer. "I could order them to shoot each other right now, and they wouldn't even complain about it, wouldn't question it. It's no wonder the Emperor chose to have a clone army created in order to take out the Jedi. Droids lack the... Well the subtlety, but also the naive innocence. That was what did it, you know?" he said, glancing at Tacha.

"Sir? Did what?"

"The clones were almost innocent when they met the Jedi. They were trained to kill, but it was almost a childlike act when they did; they were just following orders and saw nothing wrong with it, and when the order came to destroy the Jedi, they followed that just as blindly. There was nothing more to it than the orders they had been given to destroy droids up until then. And the Jedi failed to sense any danger until it was already upon them."

Tacha frowned, and Srael smiled to himself as he sensed the lieutenant's confusion over this new set of ideas. He managed to hide his smile as he turned to face someone who had joined them on the balcony, and had no doubt overheard exactly what had been said.

"Commander Collis," Srael said, addressing the clone that now stood beside them. Tacha looked around sharply, having not noticed the clone's approach. "Your report?"

Collis hesitated, perhaps for an instant longer than was necessary, before replying. Srael drew some satisfaction from that; reminded of his own effective life-expectancy, and the limits of his usefulness, the clone could do no more than hesitate before replying in order to express his feelings.

"Sir, my men have searched the city and found nothing. The Jedi aren't within the city limits."

"On the contrary, they are," Srael replied. "They are either within one of the areas that you cannot enter, or they walked straight past your men without you spotting them. But that is what you were there for after all," he concluded. "Continue your sweeps commander, and should you stumble across a Jedi, please remember that I want them _alive_. The Emperor has no wish to see a potential resource wasted, and the ranks of the Inquisition can benefit greatly from any Jedi that we can turn. Of course if you cannot take them alive, I will understand it," Srael added, his generous tone nothing more than a cover for the insult beneath it. And the clone knew it.

"Yes sir," was the only reply, as Collis saluted, and then left.

"It pains me that we must rely on such individuals as that," Srael commented. "There's a certain cruel satisfaction to be had in speaking to them in such a manner, but their _compliance_... Honestly, if one of them doesn't answer back or show some kind of _fire_ soon I may simply pack them off back to Kamino and be done with it."

"Yes sir," Tacha replied as diplomatically as he could. After an appropriate pause he continued. "Sir, we've had word from captain Bel-Appan; the _Locus Incendia_ has its sensor stealth system functional again. Shall I order them to join the _Stylite_?"

Srael considered, and then nodded. "Order them to hide themselves in the asteroid field, but to maintain a good hyperspace fix on this planet. And make sure that's relayed to the _Stylite_ as well; captain Moven strikes me as the kind to take such orders lightly when he isn't watched carefully. I want both ships ready to join me in orbit at a moment's notice." He cast a concerned look up at the clear sky above them. "There is a storm coming lieutenant... Something is moving through the Force, and it is coming here soon..."

* * *

It came as no surprise to any of them that Atraas had some holding cells buried within the walls of his palace. The Hutt was, despite his charming manner and strange interest in the local cult, still a crime lord of sorts, and as such needed to occasionally retain people again their will.

Rafe, Kyle and Srah all kept their gazes firmly averted from the other cells as they walked to the more distant one where Duncan Essan had been sequestered temporarily. Partly they didn't want to see the prisoners, lest they be required to ask awkward questions of their host. Partly however, it was because some of the guests were making use of the cells for other activities, which it was also wise not to pry into.

"Duncan Essan is a snitch," Srah explained to Atraas as they walked past one of the more energetic sounding cells. "He's a guy who will sell out anyone, to anyone, as long as the price is right. He'd certainly have no issue with selling out Rafe and Kyle, and probably yourself as well for harbouring them."

Atraas seemed to be put out by this, and paused to speak to her. "He has done this to you before?"

"Unfortunately yes," Srah admitted through gritted teeth. "He can ingratiate himself into almost any company, and moves around enough that trouble rarely catches up with him. Even if you'd found out that it was him that sold you out, he would most likely have been three systems away before you could put a bounty on him, and by that time you would probably be in too much trouble to bother anyway; he has a knack of only going to people who will be able to pay up and deal with whoever he's selling out, so if he did bring anyone down on you they would have been prepared to deal with any defences that you have."

"Speaking of being prepared," Kyle said, "what was that about him being hidden from us?"

Rafe held up Essan's chain of lucky charms, bits of which clinked against each other. "This is his protection," he declared. "Don't ask me how, but some of these have been attuned to the Force. It might have been an accident, or someone did it without realising what they were really doing... Or maybe they're the remains of some old Jedi or Sith artefacts. But a couple of them are potent enough to actually hide a person from Jedi senses. Of course, it does so by leaving a blank area that's easy to spot once you know to look for it."

Kyle took the chain off him and examined them carefully. "The Order's been around for as long as the Republic has, on and off... How come there's still stuff like this lying around?"

"Because we've been around for so long," Rafe explained vaguely. "These things tend to build up; someone drops something, means to go back for it, and never gets the chance... Or a Sith Lord crafts something that they don't get a chance to use in a way that the Order might notice. Even people that the Order missed out, like Srah, could make something like this easily enough, though not necessarily with a full understanding of what they were doing."

"Are the people that come after us likely to be equally prepared?" Srah asked, eyeing the chain carefully.

"I doubt it," Rafe replied. "These are random trinkets, pulled from a dozen worlds across the galaxy. I suspect that the current Sith won't have much use for this kind of trick."

"Come on," Kyle objected. "Palpatine was hiding in plain sight for over a decade as Chancellor. You'd need some kind of protection under those circumstances."

"This wouldn't do it though; these are too obvious, and too haphazard in the way that they hide you," Rafe explained. "If he used anything at all, it was most likely intended simply to mask how deeply he was immersed in the Dark Side."

"As fascinating as I can see this is going to be," Srah interjected, "what are we going to do now?"

"I can keep Essan here for some time at least," Atraas offered. "He has committed a crime against me by betraying my trust in this manner," the Hutt declared, failing to catch the looks that the other three exchanged at the apparent absurdity of this statement. "But I cannot keep him here indefinitely."

"Couldn't you simply make him forget you being here?" Srah asked Rafe and Kyle. "I mean, Jedi can do that sort of thing."

"It can be tricky doing that sometimes," Kyle answered. "Anyway, my skills don't exactly run into that kind of mental trickery," he added, looking at Rafe.

"What? Do I look like a Dominator to you?" When Atraas looked perplexed, Rafe sighed. "It's the old Sith rank for someone who specialised in messing with people's heads; turning them to the Dark Side, creating double-agents or pawns. I'm not one of them by a long shot," he added.

"I can think of a couple of people back home that wouldn't agree with that," Srah murmured. Then she sighed. "You know, this would have been easier if you'd just left him in that corridor." She glanced at Rafe and so caught the dirty look that he sent her way. "Okay, okay. I know. Jedi help everyone, and you don't leave someone behind if you can help them. Tell that to Skywalker though."

Rafe gritted his teeth as he turned away, and Srah frowned. "The Force spoke to me while I was in that corridor," Rafe informed her. "It's hideously strong on this world; the Dark Side especially, when it has a reason for being somewhere." He turned back. "I've only listened to the Dark Side like that once before. Once."

Srah swallowed, caught off-guard by his intensity, and the memories that his statement invoked. "Mescra," she deduced.

"Exactly," he hissed back. He looked at Atraas, who had been looking back and forth between the three of them. "I could... Maybe... Have a go at doing something about it," he offered reluctantly. "But I won't promise anything."

Atraas considered for a second, and then shrugged vaguely. "It matters little. I can keep him here for some days at least without issue. The damage to my palace is a more pressing issue."

"How's the structure looking?" Srah asked. "It didn't sound too secure when it came down, but I haven't heard anything since."

"It appears to have settled for now," Atraas confirmed. "The weapon did much damage, and the entire corridor may be lost until heavy equipment can be brought in."

"What kind of weapon was it anyway?" Rafe asked, still not looking happy with the situation. "I've heard of sonic weapons before..."

"This was something special," Srah admitted. "Very rare and heavily modified. It would have burned through the power cell it carried in a couple more shots if you hadn't taken it off him, where a normal sonic weapon would have lasted dozens more shots at least. Goodness knows where he got it from; the modifications look fairly crude, but they're solid enough for it to have held together through a lot of use. Most likely it's something that he had made in a hurry when he realised that there might be Jedi around."

"Not something that we should need to worry too much about in the future then," Kyle declared. "So what about Essan?" he asked. "We can't just leave him there indefinitely."

"He only needs to stay there until we're safely away," Rafe pointed out. "After that... We could even take him with us. Drop him off somewhere once we're long gone, maybe with a confused memory of Atraas' involvement in all of this."

"That would work," Kyle admitted. "It would be simpler as well. We'd just need to get him out to my ship safely."

"This sounds like a good plan," Atraas declared as he stopped beside a locked cell.

The cells were crude affairs to look at, solid stone walls, floor and ceiling with a single light fitted on the wall opposite the cell door for illumination. Metal bars, each one five centimetres thick at least, were interwoven across the doorway, built into a door that would rise into the ceiling when opened. The entire affair looked primitive, and yet in the local style was far from being so; the walls were a thin layer of native stone covering a plasma-fused surface only slightly softer than diamonds, and the gaps between the bars of the door were blocked by a force field which carried enough of a charge to raise the hairs on the back of your hand if you moved too close. Additionally, fiery skulls patrolled the corridors, whilst wraith-droids carrying stun rods in the shape of carved bones moved silently around the cells, checking everything was as it should be.

Essan sat on the single bunk that had been carved out of one wall, not exactly looking dejected, but certainly not appearing too happy about events. He looked up as they stopped there, and then seemed to dismiss them from his attention.

"Has he said anything?" Rafe asked.

"Nothing that I have been informed of," Atraas replied. "His guilt is without doubt, if only for damaging my palace. There is little that he could say that would not make his situation worse."

"We leave him here then, until we can take him with us," Kyle said. "He's too dangerous to be allowed out though."

"And you might want to keep other people away from him," Srah advised. "Like I said, he can ingratiate himself into almost any company, and I don't want him giving other people funny ideas."

* * *

_7 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Neuook, Outer Rim Territories_

The dew collectors were returning when Srael made an appearance. He had switched into a more casual uniform, although Tacha noticed that the Inquisitor had retained his staff rather than using a standard issue weapon.

"Good morning lieutenant," Srael said as he stepped into the barrack's command centre. "Anything to report from last night?"

Tacha glanced down at the report in his hand to confirm the details on it in his own mind. "Not much sir. Commander Collis reports no contacts of any kind. Our intelligence teams are narrowing down the list of places that they specifically haven't had access to so far, and it's quite a short list now. Mostly a few of the larger privately owned buildings. Most of those match up quite well with our list of people that would probably have secret ways into the city."

"Only to be expected. How long until the clones will have searched these buildings then?"

"Um... That could be tricky sir," Tacha admitted. "We're having to negotiate access to each building, and to make a full search of some of them properly will require our entire ground-based force, including the gate guards. Anything less would be almost pointless, because some of these palaces are big enough that there would be places that we wouldn't be able to cover and which people could sneak through to evade detection altogether. We could bring down additional forces-"

"We'll keep that option in reserve," Srael replied. "See what local support we can drum up. Maybe some of the local shaman will be willing to help us. Some of them at least must be aware of the kind of strength we have within this solar system. How is Intelligence doing with the underground work?"

"The rumour mill around here is apparently taking some time to penetrate," Tacha admitted. "It's hard for our people to mingle with the locals, and we don't have any locals on our teams, so it's taking longer than they originally hoped. To be honest sir, the dissent that they're trying to stir up against Jedi won't be much use; at this rate by the time they produce any useful results we'll have left."

"Perhaps," Srael admitted. "That kind of underground work is always tricky on a world like this. But at least we will have laid the groundwork for the next group to come here. And who knows, we might get something useful out of it before we leave." He turned to Tacha and looked expectant. "Was there anything else?"

"Only one other thing of note sir," Tacha replied hesitantly. "One of our probe droids was performing a ground survey at around the time that you reported sensing someone making intense use of the Force. It reported micro-shockwaves which we've determined to be consistent with either seismic or heavy-sonic weaponry, somewhere within the east wall of the city. It _could_ be someone trying to fight a Jedi; I understand from Cadet Cruze that Lightsabres aren't much of a defence against sonic weapons."

"So someone was trying to fight a Jedi you think?"

"That would be my guess sir," Tacha replied. "The probe droid wasn't able to get a good fix on the source of the shockwaves, besides them being in the eastern wall somewhere, which unfortunately is several of the buildings that we've got listed as possible hiding places."

Srael sighed. "Tell our people to concentrate on getting into those buildings. And see what local support we can find. I'll assist personally with the searches if necessary. In the mean time I will be otherwise occupied; I believe that my research on the local curse is getting somewhere."

* * *

"What's our plan then?" Kyle asked, looking around expectantly.

They had all gathered in the room given to Srah's team again, their council of war now having a less downcast, but no less urgent feel to it. Having not been rousted out of their beds during the night by clones, they were starting to feel a bit more secure in their position, and their thoughts were turned to a more cheery, if haphazard and dangerous, future.

"We've both got reasons to be leaving this world," Srah pointed out to him. "Or we can have; you carry cargo, I steal ships. In this place, we can both find business pretty easily. Everyone else is our crew, plus we've got one unwilling passenger. The people around here won't find that too hard to believe."

"Does it matter if they believe it?" Sthynn asked.

"Yes, it does," Rafe replied. "If someone gets the idea that we're running scared then they might be inclined to ignore Atraas' hospitality as well and try to get us turned in. If they think that even after last night we're not worried, then we've got an advantage, because they won't think that there's anyone around that could really challenge us. If someone thought that they could get away with it though..."

"So we need to be careful," Kyle said, reaching into his jacket's inner pocket and pulling out a small datapad before looking around suspiciously. "Has anybody... Never mind," he said with a certain amount of resignation. "Rafe could you..?"

"Sure," Rafe replied good naturedly, setting off slowly around the room.

"Anyway, I've got a couple of options for where we could go," Kyle continued, reading from the datapad. "Cerea looks good, because there's some cargo that I could carry, and there's also a hint of lots of ships being deployed around there. Rich pickings for your lot," he said, addressing himself to Srah.

"Only works that way if there's a decent amount of confusion around," she replied. "A massing of ships like that could mean that they're on top of things and they'll spot us right away."

"Well in that case we could head the other way, and jump onto the Corellian trade spine," Kyle suggested. Moorja, Yag'dhul, Bestine... There's some kind of cargo heading that way." There was a squawk from one corner of the room, and Kyle's Lightsabre flew through the air, was caught and concealed in his jacket pocket again without him appearing to even break pace. "Those look like our best bets. Thanks," he added to Rafe, before casting a dirty look to the corner of the room where Rees, having been deprived of a real Lightsabre to cuddle, was now industriously chewing on one of the training Lightsabres.

"The real issue, aside from getting past the clones," Kyle added, "is what we're going to do about the Eye."

"Surely that is an issue that you must solve yourself," Gates offered. "It is not our concern what it does."

"It will be if it follows you because of us," Rafe warned. "Just remember that this thing wiped out Yehgast because it thought that we were there. Two billion people gone because a couple of Jedi _might_ have been on that world. You've been hanging around us and you've seen its work firsthand. If it wants to hide it'll find you."

Kyle frowned at the flash of concern that passed through Srah. Everyone was worried by Rafe's statement, even Rafe who, partly through Jedi training and partly through a simple sense of responsibility, was worried about everyone else primarily. Srah was worried about herself of course, but there was a heavy emphasis in her concern about Rhyydonning, almost eclipsing her concern about her own fate.

"I'm going to be looking into that today," Rafe declared. "The archives that Atraas keeps aren't much use, but I still think that Url's hidden stash is my best bet. I'll see what I can get out of him while you're looking for business."

"I still don't like the idea of you getting together with him like that," Kyle objected.

"We're out of options for the most part," Rafe admitted. "Url's stash is the only real source of knowledge that we have available to us here without heading out into the city, which isn't wise with the clones around. At the very least I need to take a good look through it to see if there's anything relevant that might help us."

"I still don't like it," Kyle replied. "But you've got to try I guess."

"What should the rest of us do?" Sthynn asked.

"Stock up," Srah suggested. "Get some practise at your skills. Try making some money, provided that I can trust you not to lose any of mine in the process."

"I will attempt to find a way out of this place," Gates declared. "Thus far one has eluded us, aside from those that we know of, most of which are very obvious."

"Rhyydonning can help you with that one," Srah offered. "And see if you can contact Tetee; tell her to see what she can do about getting us some local star charts. Having to follow the beacons around out here will be trouble, and at least if Tetee finds something then it'll be less likely that someone will expect us to jump off the beacon network altogether than if we buy it legitimately."

"Let's go then," Kyle said, standing and heading for the door.

Rafe turned in the opposite direction to the rest of them as he left the room, heading for the more select guest quarters. Kyle led the others as far as the corridor that circled the main chamber, and then paused. "Okay... Business halls, or main chamber do you think?"

"I'm going with the business halls," Srah replied. "The big stuff will be in the main chamber, and your ship won't handle it. Or if it could it'll be at best a semi-legal cargo. The smaller stuff, and kind of business that I'm looking for, will be in the halls." She glanced at the others. "Spread out guys. And remember: we're not worried about any clones lurking around the city; we were planning on leaving soon anyway."

Gates treated her to a surprisingly condensing look given his lack of facial expression. "This is not our first such operation," he pointed out, before turning and stalking into the crowd.

"You've never considered melting him down for scrap?" Kyle asked as they both watched the droid's odd shape vanish around a corner.

"He's too useful for it, otherwise I might have," Srah admitted. "They discontinued the GC2 series droids though so even getting proper spare parts for him can be tricky."

Kyle frowned. "I thought that he was a G2C series..."

"Yeah, that's what he claims to be," Srah replied. "But the entire GC2 series had that quirk."

"Weren't the GC2 series-"

"Combat translation droids?" Srah smiled at him wryly. "Yeah. Protocol and astromech droids based around an LE series chassis with the kind of combat programming that you normally get in a top-of-the-line battle droid. He was a lucky find," she admitted. "You've seen his right arm?"

"Yeah, it doesn't match the rest of his body," Kyle said warily.

"Hijacked from a Baktoid Combat Automata B2 series droid."

"The ones with the blasters built into their arms..." Kyle said slowly. Gates' superior attitude suddenly took on a whole new meaning. "Is his programming..."

"As stable as any droid that doesn't have a memory wipe as often as it probably should," Srah assured him. "But he's safe enough. Brilliant pilot, brilliant engineer, and a crack shot."

"I can see why you get on with him so well," Kyle offered as they stepped into the business halls.

"What's that meant to mean?" Srah asked, casting a questioning look at him.

"Oh come on: shipjacker means piloting, hot-wiring, and fighting," Kyle replied. "I might not have been around the trading post much, but I did pick up my parent's dislike for shipjackers."

"It's not just that," Srah assured him. "I mean, _I_ don't like some kinds of shipjackers; they rush in, shoot anything that moves... I've lost at least one customer in the past because of that kind of idiot. And for the record, I never touched trading posts; official outposts and military installations I have no trouble with, and take that how you will," she added wryly. "But... How do you know your parents anyway?" she asked, suddenly exasperated. "I thought that Jedi weren't meant to know who their parents were."

Kyle looked at her carefully for a moment, and then shrugged. "I guess it couldn't hurt... Tell you what," he said decisively. "I'll trade you; I'll tell you about my parents, and you tell me about Rhyydonning."

Srah blinked in surprise. Kyle took the opportunity to glance around, glad that at least this area of the hall was clear. Tables littered the floor, different sizes and shapes, some with partitions and some with full privacy screens around them. A variety of people were spread around the room, some at tables, and some at the bars around the walls. Lighting was natural for the most part, piped in through fibre optic channels and natural channels lined with mirrors, whilst any extra need was met by the traditional method of hovering skulls with flames licking around them, or skull-and-bone designed torches.

Most of the people around the room were aliens, and most were easily divided by appearance into locals, who were significantly drier and wore rougher clothing, and off-worlders, who were less dried out, and tended to drink a lot more to counter the constant thirst that the parched world left everyone with for their first few days.

"I..." Srah looked away, embarrassment flaring off her like a beacon. Embarrassment, and something that Kyle couldn't immediately identify... Regret? Sadness? "It's difficult," she said slowly, still not looking up at him. "Even Rafe doesn't know about it and..." She trailed off.

"Talking about my parents isn't that good for me either," Kyle pointed out. Despite that he felt some concern; he had clearly touched on a more difficult subject than he'd expected.

"I'll give you a deal back," she said, looking up at him with a scowl. "I'll give you half of the story now... You tell me something about your family. We get off this rock, we'll close it with the rest of the story. Deal?"

Kyle considered for a moment, and then nodded. "Deal. I'll go first," he offered, indicating the bar. As they both sat, he considered, and then began.


	12. Flashback 5

_Nine years before the instigation of Order 66_

_Aboard the Karakana (YT-2000 freighter)_

_The Seventh Haven, 4 light days spinward of Corellia_

Lights shone through the cockpit's canopy, the brilliance of the seventh arm of the Haven nebula casting its glow down upon them, its size and proximity almost concealing the majesty of the other six arms that spread out from the point nearly a light month away where they met.

Just for that one moment, that brief moment, Kieran felt that he could almost touch the universe, the way that Kyle or Mikhail Zane described how they touched the Force. There was a sense of truly being in touch with the whole of creation as the sheer vividness and intensity of that vast display overhead seemed to reach out to touch him. Even its song, the constant hiss and crackle that seeped in through every channel, only helped to enhance its beauty.

The ship jolted sharply as a vivid shard of red light flashed past them, and Kieran growled in annoyance, not merely at the inconvenience of the attack, but the disruption of the moment where he had come as close as he ever was likely to do so to touching the Force.

The eldest of two brothers, Kieran Reeves was also the better pilot and the better engineer. It had amused him somewhat to discover that his nephew was taking after his own skills more than he was his father's; Kyle's talent for flying and mechanics was far more impressive than his grasp of how to run a trading post, and Kieran knew that Alex had almost despaired when this became apparent. After all, losing a son to the Jedi Order was one thing, especially when the Master who trained this son was a friend of the family, but losing a son to your own brother?

Kieran had long ago given up the idea of running the family business, and thankfully before he retired their father had seen fit to recognise this as well and pass principle ownership over to Alex and his wife. There had, of course, always been the nagging suspicion in Kieran's mind that he had been passed over at his mother's insistence; his refusal to provide her with a grandchild to dote on had rankled, and she had only temporarily given up in her quest to find a suitable spouse for him when Kyle had been born. More recently, with the possibility of Kyle moving away to Coruscant now looming over them, she had started to question his bachelor life once again.

That didn't suit him; the life he led now, though occasionally lonely, was perfect for him, and he hadn't even had to resign himself to the possibility of never truly being with anyone, as the idea of it being a problem had never occurred to him.

"Dee, how's it looking back there?" Kieran called down the intercom as he rolled the ship and spun, dodging the next few flurries of faster, lighter shots that flew past them. Briefly one of the caravan's Kuat Systems TM521J freighters eclipsed the nebula, its hull in almost total darkness, silhouetted against the glory of the nebula, except for a brief instant as a laser bolt splashed across the belly shields. Then the _Krakana_ completed its turn, coming around to face the attackers whilst still spinning.

"Amdas," he growled, throwing the _Krakana_ into a series of moves that had him side-stepping blaster fire from the six fighters ranged against him even as he manually twitched the underside blaster below the cockpit around and fired on them. Behind him Hest and Kanda swung the dorsal and belly mounted turrets around, firing more for effect than purpose as they were unable to compensate for the rapid turns that Kieran was putting the ship through.

Twenty kilometres behind the caravan, but gaining fast, two Patel Ironwerks heavy lifters were trailing just behind a Sienar Technologies _Marauder_-class corvette. The corvette's paint job was mostly a standard hull-metal-grey, though with garish yellow patterns across the hull, and finished off with a large blue clenched fist across one wing.

"Who is it?" Deerodee asked, staggering into the cockpit and scrambling for the co-pilot's seat.

"Amdas," Kieran replied tersely, one again making the word into a curse.

D0-D3 cursed more obviously, tapping furiously at controls, rerouting power and trying to assist as best he could. One of the limited number of D0 series droids in existence, D0-D3 had been in the Reeves family for nearly thirty years, becoming almost a part of it in that time. A dual-function droid, he was trained to repair things, both organic and mechanical, and he had settled well into the role of family physician and mechanic, servicing both the ships and their owners.

Extensive care had been taken in his selection, and his preparation to work for the family, as with any of the droids that they owned. Given his medical training, the preparations had been even more extensive; back-up memory units, auxiliary power supply modules, an advanced processor, and advanced sensor capabilities went together to make him worth over a hundred times as much as a basic medical droid. It also made it almost physically impossible to erase his memory any more, or to reprogram him in any conventional manner.

Once it had become clear that Alex and Yukiko were going to have a child, the mental and physical defences that D0-D3 possessed had been made even more formidable. Kieran had actually found himself becoming paranoid about using other medical droids because they lacked the extra precautions that had been built into the family physician.

Once Kyle had been born and found to have the potential to become a Jedi, the precautions had not been removed; they had cost a lot to install, and they weren't exactly a bad thing to have around. Besides, the presence of those precautions made it impossible to remove them in any event.

As well as that Alex and Yukiko secretly held out hope for the day when Kyle might return to them, or at least could be granted his full inheritance of the family's wealth; the _Long Shot_ was currently sealed off in the station's secure hanger, being upgraded in preparation for being handed over as a gift at Kyle's Knighting, and the intent was to place D0-D3 in with the astromechs that would be aboard it.

Kyle had already made an impression on the droid; the nickname 'Deerodee' had been Kyle's first attempt to pronounce the droid's designation and it had stuck. Further nicknames had come about, but all of those had been based on that first one rather than the droid's designation.

"I didn't think that Amdas would be operating around here," Deerodee offered once his triad was over. "She's a little close to our station, wouldn't you agree?"

"Smuggler law," Kieran replied, falling in behind one of the fighters for long enough for Hest to wing it with a good hit and force it to pull back. "She's operating close to our station, but we're running this caravan below our optimal security margin, so she's seen a chance to get in here and make off with some of the cargo without too much trouble." His own fire tagged another fighter, punching through the Z-95's wing and shorting out the engines. Checking quickly that it wasn't going to glide into one of the freighters, he brought the _Karakana_ around once more.

"You would have thought that she would have talked to us by now then," Deerodee commented. "She normally likes to show off when she's certain that she's winning."

"Yeah well," Kieran said, not really concentrating on the droid's comments, "she's not onto a sure thing yet."

Amdas though, did not appear to agree. The _Marauder_, no doubt her personal flagship, the _Cross of Alderaan_, flew in firing somewhat half-heartedly at the rapidly twisting _Krakana_ whilst the two heavy lifters opened up on one of the freighters with ion cannons. That at least Kieran had been ready for; all of the freighters had a reasonable level of ray shielding to hold off such an attack for a while. The three sentry ships that Kieran had brought along to guard the caravan leapt to the freighter's defence, but against the sheer weight of the heavy lifters they were pitiful. Only the _Krakana_ represented a real defence for the fifty cargo freighters and transports that made up the rest of the caravan.

As they dealt with the last of the fighters, Kieran pulled the _Krakana_ around to face the _Cross of Alderaan_, tossing a single missile in their direction as he dived in on them. The missile was shot down well before it hit the shield, but the gap gave him the room to get in and allow Hest and Kanda to rake the dorsal shields as he flew in over them before executing a very tight turn and scorching the shield with his engine exhaust.

"Nicely done," Deerodee commented. "I think you got her attention; she wants to talk."

"Put her on buddy," Kieran said with a bit more of a grin as he drove away from the _Cross_ at full burn.

"_Kieran, darling, is that really you out there_?" Amdas called over the channel. Her accent was Alderaanian, despite her Zabrak heritage, and he could easily imagine her sitting on the bridge of the _Cross_, a hold-out blaster in one hand and a glass of finest Adleraanian Champeneau in the other. That was how he had first seen her, and nothing he had seen since had been able to dislodge that image from his mind; she was a pirate of the dramatic style, her career of crime fuelling a life of luxury in her spare time.

"Amdas," he replied, trying to sound sociable without losing his concentration. "What brings you to this neck of space?"

"_Oh, business as always_," she replied, sounding appropriately bored at the prospect. "_Doesn't it bother you that we only ever hear from each other when it's _business?" she asked him as a volley skittered past the _Krakana_'s cockpit.

"Can I help it that you never call at any other time?" Kieran replied, checking the status of the heavy lifters and the sentry ships. That fight wasn't going anywhere for either side, the more nimble sentry ships running rings around the seemingly unstoppable lifters. But as long as the sentry ships kept up the fight the lifters wouldn't be able to run off with the cargo. "You never write, you never call me," he berated her as he dropped a missile onto the _Cross_'s port shield, right on top of the main laser mount.

"_Oh, don't be like that_," she replied. "_I tell you what_," she said, brightening up somewhat. "_You let me take this cargo off your hands, and I'll call you later and tell you all about how I've spent the money from selling it_."

"No deal," Kieran replied. "Although you could turn yourself over to Corsec; that way I'd just be able to check your cell number if I wanted to call _you_ instead."

"_Oh very droll_," she replied. "_But really Kieran, that little freighter of yours won't stand up for much longer against the _Cross_ now, will it_?"

As if to underline her point, the _Krakana_ bucked under them as one of the two turbolaser batteries managed to snag them. The shield indicators went red almost instantly, and Kieran was forced to swing the ship hard in order to avoid any follow-up shots.

Deerodee killed the channel as he began trying to restore shield power once more. "I do wish that the two of you would stop trying to chat each other up whenever you meet like this," he complained. "Either tell her you're not interested, or procreate for the Maker's sake," the droid said.

Kieran didn't have time for a witty remark, and so Deerodee carried on. "She's right though. Our ships aren't nearly powerful enough to stop her force at the moment. It's a matter of time before the sentry ships are taken out, and our own shields aren't going to be able to withstand another shot like that for a few minutes at least."

Even as he said it, the entire ship jerked, and began to shudder under them. "That's a tractor beam," Kieran said, checking his controls. "I'm not going to be able to simply power out of this one."

"Not unless you want to lose our shields altogether," Deerodee agreed. "Fortunately now that she's got us she doesn't seem intent on killing us."

Indeed, there was no sound of weapons-fire against the hull or shields. The shudder of the engines fighting against the tractor beam was the only sign that they were still facing an enemy at all.

"Is she pulling us in?" Deerodee asked suddenly.

"Not yet," Kieran replied. "She's probably having trouble just keeping us from running off without telling us where to go as well. Besides, she only needs to stop us for long enough to get the sentry ships out of the way..." He nodded to himself. "Okay, time to spring it." Tapping at the communications controls, he set them to broadcast. "Spear advises Van, Article of the Mount is in play. Van advised to be sharp."

Almost immediately there were a dozen flickers of pseudomotion around them, as the twelve back-up ships that Kieran had convinced Alex to fund all jumped in. The lightest of them, a pair of Z-95s, dived in on a strafing run at the lifters, aided by a T-Wing and two Skipray blastboats. The other fighters, consisting of two more Skiprays, a pair of Firesprays, the _Krakana_'s YT-1300 sister-ship the _Eraghast_, three R-41 Starchasers, and a Muurian transport, all opened fire on the _Cross_, flaring up the shields as they drove past.

The Van group swung around from their respective attack runs, moving in on additional runs, as Amdas suddenly found herself more seriously outnumbered than she might have ever expected to be.

"Tractor beam is released," Deerodee announced as the _Krakana_ suddenly lurched forwards again.

Amdas though, was not going to be outdone so easily, and even as the _Cross of Alderaan_ turned to run, her parting shot stabbed back at the _Krakana_, catching it a blow that scorched the hull and set some of the systems crackling. In the cockpit Kieran dived as the electromagnetic interference from the shot caused feedback through some of the controls, blowing out several boards and showering him with sparks.

As he pulled himself up off the floor, he looked around blearily, wondering about the source of the peculiar electronic warble that was echoing around the cockpit. He thought he knew all the possible sounds that his ship could make when it was in pain, but this was a new one.

Then he found the source: Deerodee was sprawled across the floor by the door, his chest torn open despite the reinforcing and armour plate built into his shell. Sparks were appearing intermittently from inside him, and the light of his photoreceptors flickered erratically. A pitiful mewling wail was coming from his vocabulator.

"Dee..."

"Kier-ran," Deerodee managed to say as Kieran crawled over to the droid. "Kier-ran... I would... I would have..."

"Don't strain yourself," Kieran said. "I can fix you up in no time."

"I... Am not so certain..." Deerodee replied, twisting his head just enough that Kieran could see the damage to the side of it; parts of the circuitry exposed by the damage were from the droid's central memory and processor. Even at a glance, Kieran could see that the back-up processors and other systems were seriously damaged as well, from electrical surges rather than the physical assault that had torn the head's shell open in the first place.

"Damn it buddy... Stay with me," Kieran said. "Get an astromech in here!" he shouted to the others, unsure of whether they would even hear him.

"I cannot do that," Deerodee replied softly, interference beginning to obscure his speech. "I... Feel myself... Slipping away..."

"No. No..." Kieran clutched the droid's head, cradling it as he would have that of any wounded brother. "Stay with me..."

"All things must... Move on..." Deerodee reminded him, quoting Zane as he did. "Now is... Simply my time..."

Kieran wiped viciously at the tears that were starting to obscure his vision. "Amdas..." He murmured the name with new venom now. "I am going to-"

Determination overcame simple mechanical failure as Deerodee reached up sharply, grabbing Kieran's upper arm in a painfully intense grip. "Do... Not... Kill... Her... For me..." he grated out. "Do not... Hate her... For this..." His grip relaxed as sparks jumped from his shoulder, then intensified once more. "That way... Leads to the Dark Side..." He forced the words out through a failing vocabulator, giving them a passion that startled even Kieran. "You... Must not... Fall... To the... Dark Side..."

"I won't buddy," Kieran assured him. "I won't hate her..." Tears welled up once again, running down his cheeks and dripping onto the droid's shell.

Deerodee relaxed somewhat, allowing his arm to fall limp once more. "I would... I would have liked... To have been there... For Kyle..." Deerodee managed to whisper through the damage, before the interference claimed his voice, and the light in his photoreceptors faded to nothing. Even in a body that should not have been able to relax any further, there was now a limp quality that anyone whose soul possessed even one whit of empathy would recognise as signalling that this body was no longer occupied.

"You will be buddy," Kieran promised to the empty shell, and the spirit that had now left it behind. "You'll be there for him..."


	13. Chapter 7

_7 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Neuook, Outer Rim Territories_

Srah tried to swill the viscous amber liquid in her glass around, but the local concoctions were designed to withstand any process of evaporation, and the stuff merely shifted slightly and settled at an angle. Undeterred, she held it up to the light, watching the way that the light shone through it.

"I'd heard about Amdas," she commented, trying to sound casual. "She's an old-time pirate alright. I never heard what happened to her in the end though," she added thoughtfully.

Kyle shrugged. "My uncle tracked her down, caught her... Handed her over to Corsec. Last I heard she was still in prison." He sighed deeply as he thought about that story. "I got the _Long Shot_ on my Knighting, just like they intended..."

"But no Deerodee," Srah reasoned.

"Not quite," Kyle replied. "He's been there for me..." He reached into his jacket, pulling out his Lightsabre and holding it up for Srah to examine.

It was the first chance that she had had to look at Kyle's Lightsabre properly; she knew the design of Rafe's well enough, but Kyle had kept his hidden well enough that she had never had a chance to see it.

The design was more solid than Rafe's, and of a hard gun-metal grey rather than the bronzed colour of Rafe's. From the wear patterns, Srah guessed that it was pieced together from various sources of pre-existing components, rather than put together from scratch as some Lightsabres were. That in itself wasn't odd; Srah had seen Lightsabres built into wooden cases, ivory, and even a solid crystal in one case. More conventionally they tended to be made from pieces of metal in some form, but even there the designs varied from intricate designs such as Rafe had where each part had been produced specifically for that project, through to one she had seen that had been little more than a collection of rusted bolts and piping housing scavenged components.

This one was obviously of the latter type, but much more care had been taken with it than with some; the components fitted together seamlessly, and care had been taken to ensure that each one was in good condition.

Their source though was something of a mystery; the shapes were generic enough that there was little to indicate where they might have come from. It was only when Kyle tilted his hand, allowing the Lightsabre to roll back a bit that she was able to see the Basic symbols anodized to the underside of it: D0-D3.

"You made him into a Lightsabre?" Srah wasn't sure if she was shocked or not by that idea.

"Some pieces," Kyle agreed. "Some of the others..." He reached inside his shirt's collar and hooked his thumb under a chain that he was wearing there, pulling it out enough for her to see before slipping it back. "He's spread around a bit. There's a personal shield that I wear sometimes that is mostly made from his components."

Srah frowned. "Don't you feel..? Weird..? Using bits of him like that?"

Kyle shrugged as he slipped the Lightsabre back into his jacket. "A droid is a droid. If you want weird uses of dead things try talking to some of the locals."

"True," she admitted, looking around at some of the lighting fixtures. Even the edge of the bar had been done but with some bones that looked disturbingly real to Srah. "But even so-"

"My dear friend!"

Kyle blinked in surprise as a hand clasped his shoulder suddenly. Fighting down reflexes that would have had him cripple whoever had grabbed him, Kyle turned, annoyed that he hadn't sensed this person coming.

An elderly Twi'lek in simple robes stood behind him, smiling warmly down at him. For a second Kyle wondered who this was, before a memory slipped into place.

"'Dear friend' hardly covers it," he replied. "We only met for a couple of minutes," he added, recalling the merchant on Jorrie who had tried to hire his services. "What brings you here?"

"Business of course," the merchant replied. "What better reason could there be?" He gestured to Srah. "I do not recall you having such fair company when we last met..."

Srah rolled her eyes and held out a hand. "Srah Heid. I'm in the shipping business," she informed him with a smile.

"Umas Vex, a simple merchant," he introduced himself. "I recently found myself on Jorrie, attempting to arrange shipment of a cargo, where I met your companion."

"What happened to the cargo anyway?" Kyle asked, leaning back against the bar.

"I still have it," Umas replied with a shrug. "I managed to arrange transport of it and myself to this world, where I was informed that there would be someone willing to carry it. I anticipated no trouble with this, especially since it would no longer require anyone to leave the sector; the destination is now no longer Naboo, but Costance, quite close to Pelgrin."

"Any luck?" Kyle asked, glancing at Srah inquisitively. Costance featured a fair sized spaceport, and one which was open to some of the more illegal types of customer. While he had no desire to aid her in raiding a trading post or military base, stealing a ship from a pirate and selling it on to some legitimate force didn't sound too bad.

"Not as such," Umas admitted. "I was almost despairing until I saw you; you had the air of one who wished to keep moving the last time we met. I hoped that this was still true."

"It is," Srah assured him. "How big was this cargo?"

"One cubic metre in size," Umas informed her.

"And heavy," Kyle added, remembering that detail.

"Indeed," Umas admitted. "As the loading droids can attest to," he added wryly.

"That sounds like the kind of work that we might be interested in," Srah told him. "Any kind of time limit? Special precautions to take with the cargo? And what's the catch?"

"The catch?" Umas looked appropriately offended at the idea, before relaxing and allowing a professional smile to creep out. "My client informed me that this crate must escape inspection by the Imperial forces. It must arrive within the next few weeks... And, apart from avoiding inspection, there are no precautions to take," he said easily. "My budget is generous as well: ten thousand credits. Half to be paid in advance," he added generously.

Srah glanced at Kyle, who nodded incrementally. That kind of price would easily cover his costs for getting to Costance from what she knew about YT-2400 specifications. And the destination was good for an excuse for her to head that way as well.

"We'll take it for you," she declared. "We'll be hanging around for a couple of days longer probably, but we can arrange for your cargo to be loaded before the end of the day if you want."

"That would be most appreciated," he declared, bowing graciously to them both.

* * *

Rafe stepped out of the room, turning away from the others towards the rest of the guest quarters. He heard them talking as they departed, and for an idle moment considered going back to them. He had kept himself busy the last few days, and he had found himself almost avoiding Srah, especially after the way that she had come to him in the night.

That conversation, especially her parting words, had confused him somewhat; whilst he knew that they had shared something for most of their lives, and something very different for that one night when they had both tried to save each other from the insanity that was feared for them, he hadn't expected to feel quite so powerfully touched by her presence like that. Or quite so offended, or possessive, when she admitted that she had been with others since then.

It made even less sense given that he had hardly been her first choice, and yet the way that she said it suggested that even after him she had never returned to her first choice... Had she found someone else instead?

The questions were still worrying him when he arrived at Tetri Url's quarters. The presence of the diminutive Librarian within it shone out through the Force, withdrawn enough that if Rafe did not know to look for it he might have missed it as he did when he first arrived, but still prominent.

For a moment he stood by the door, waiting; seemingly lost in thought. To a casual observer, he would certainly appear to have simply been idling there. To one trained to use the Force however, it would have been readily apparent that there was something very definite going on.

Different people perceived the Force in different ways; to some it was a feeling that touched them in different ways depending on the situation, while others saw it as a morass of colours and lights. To Rafe it had always seemed like a chorus in the background, shifting in intensity and tone depending on the situation, the company, and the relative powers of the Light and Dark Side. Sometimes it had the soft, soothing tones of the Light Side, settling his mind and helping him to focus. Sometimes it had the harder, jagged and jarring sounds of the Dark Side.

What had caught him off-guard once had been how similar those two songs could be sometimes; the hymn that the Light Side sang as he surged into battle could easily be mistaken for the Dark Side, and more than once the sweet seductive murmurings of the Dark Side had nearly convinced him of the rightness of a course of action.

Now the harmony of those songs intertwined, spinning and sliding around each other, both of them trying to complement each other and to bend the other to their shape and tone. From both sides of the door came the different natures of the song; the Light Side hummed around Rafe, with the undertone of the Dark Side within him scattered throughout it, whilst from the other side the darker, harsher tones of the librarian were underpinned by lighter and more friendly character as his old training as a Jedi shone through.

The two songs wound around each other, not actually in conflict as such, but more simply to test their relative strengths. Sensing the nature of the challenge early on, Rafe stood his ground, reinforcing the Light Side around himself but nothing more than that, waiting to see how long it would be before Url gave in.

The challenge was short-lived, as the song of the Dark Side withdrew, not defeated but satisfied that it had found something interesting. The room's door was of solid material, some form of local wood, and slowly drew back, seemingly untouched by any physical force.

Stepping into the room, Rafe was somewhat surprised by the style; given his taste in robes, comparatively rich compared to those of other Jedi, Rafe had half expected Url's quarters to have a similarly opulent appearance to them. Instead they were almost Spartan in nature, with a small bed that was little more than a normal sized blanket folded several times to bring it down to its current owner's size, a desk that was seemingly homemade from bits of random wood and a couple of stones, and a single rail at Rafe's waist height that appeared to serve as a wardrobe.

In fact the most impressive looking thing in the room was the set of bookshelves that covered a hundred and fifty degrees worth of the dome shaped room's walls. These shelves were laden with not just books, but with items and artefacts as well, all of them ranging from a variety of sources and styles. There were simple trinkets of the same kind that Essan had been carrying, alongside Jedi Holocrons and what looked to Rafe like a collection of Lightsabre crystals from various sources. A couple of transparisteel plates had been arranged to cover the end sections of the shelves, and these sections Rafe sensed the most power and potential from.

Tetri Url was in the middle of the room, where the floor had been marked out in the manner of a Lightsabre training hall's combat circle; a geometric pattern based around three concentric circles with additional lines and curves marking out further shapes. Theoretically it was meant to teach precision of motion, as the lines indicated the flow of energies when performing certain standard moves with a Lightsabre. In practise Rafe's skill with a Lightsabre had always been somewhat limited, and mostly defensive, and his experience of such circles had mostly been for remedial work.

For all that he had been a librarian, and that he looked at least as old as Master Yoda, Tetri Url was clearly very familiar with such circles. As Rafe entered, the diminutive Jedi was going through a series of kata, using his staff as a weapon in the moves. Some of the lines were well-worn, suggesting that this was a regular activity following a constant pattern.

"See me, you wished to," Url said, taking out the legs of an imaginary opponent and striking at their prone form.

"I did," Rafe replied, remaining by the door. "I'm still looking for information about that Eye, and the information that you... appropriated... from the Order might contain something useful. I need to look through it before I leave, which will hopefully be soon."

Url carried on practising, remaining silent for the moment, and Rafe began to pick up a hint of something in the way that he moved. Despite his own relative lack of skill when it came to Lightsabre combat, he was quite receptive to people and the way that they moved. When Kyle practised, Rafe could see that he moved in a specific way because he had learnt to move that way, and had been taught to do so; he had learnt when best to bend around a difficult move, when to shift his weight to keep his balance, and when to shift his angle unexpectedly to test his own balance against the imaginary opponents that he was up against.

Url moved awkwardly, as if he was trying to match his actions to an image that he had seen, rather than making them his own and allowing them to flow easily. The marks in the floor were all in the same places as well, suggesting that all of the moves had been learnt by rote, that all of the determination and skill in them was simply from matching a particular pose, rather than from actual experience.

"Disapprove of me you do," Url commented, making one final textbook perfect strike with his staff, before relaxing and looking around at Rafe properly. His tone was only one of mild accusation rather than anything serious, and his expression suggested resignation of a kind.

"You stole dangerous documents and information from the Order," Rafe pointed out. "Whatever you might think of their state of being, or comparative strength, there was no call for taking such action."

"Necessary it was," Url replied, sounding tired. "To find the information, to protect it... They needed to leave," he added, almost to himself.

Rafe frowned at that one, then decided to move on; Url seemed in a more receptive mood than he had been so far, and Rafe wasn't about to waste such an opportunity.

"Well whatever your reasons, I could do with looking at it," he said, shifting his tone to what he hoped was suitably gentle, and letting his words cast their own ripples into the Force around him. With most species he would have been okay using just a tone of voice, but knowing so little about Tetri Url's species he didn't want to push his luck. Touching the Force lightly in this manner didn't carry the weight of a full attempt to issue a command or instruction, but it did present a useful way of convincing a receptive mind.

Url nodded absently, seemingly unaware of the undercurrent of the Force that had touched him. Rafe wasn't surprised; many Masters weren't aware of that trick, and when it came from a Jedi it could easily be passed off as enthusiasm or some kind of mistake. Most Jedi didn't even register that something was happening that they should be aware of.

"Over here, the information is," Url informed him, gesturing towards the desk. He shuffled over towards it, and Rafe followed, curious. "Remembered something I did, after we spoke before. Remembered reading about this Eye... Find the passages again, I did," he added, gesturing to a holographic datapad, the kind that was normally used by students of architecture or obscure languages; the three-dimensional holographic display was necessary to understand some dialects properly, where a two dimensional display did not present the entire context of the document. It made a certain kind of sense that Url would have one.

The diminutive Jedi activated the datapad, bringing up a display showing holographs of several walls, their carvings picked out in exquisite detail by the datapad's projectors. Even the colour and shading was being handled quite well, which betrayed this as a very expensive model.

The walls were stone, a pale grey colour, with borders of darker grey inlaid around them. The carvings were shallow, but distinct, although their pattern was decidedly alien to eyes accustomed to reading Basic. There were distinct patterns that were visible though, centred around several images that had been carved in alongside the writing.

The images were distinct, and familiar to Rafe; he had reviewed the recording given to them by captain Askan and even though it only had a partial silhouette of the Eye against the planet, he picked out the similarity of the lines between that and the images. In each of the images the Eye was visible, always in the background as if merely watching events that were carried out by some greater force in the image; Rafe suspected that they were starships of some kind given the context, although he hoped that the scaling in the carving was wrong given that some of those ships would have been over five hundred kilometres long if it was accurate.

There was a single image that occurred twice, never directly associated with the Eye, but its positioning suggested that it shared some of the significance of the Eye, as if it worked in the background just as the Eye did. It was a strange shape, with a bulbous central section, and three fins that lay lengthways down the sides of the central section, doubling its length. Always in the background, much as the Eye was, and yet always holding a position of significance there.

"What I have found, this is," Url offered. "Powerful this Eye is... Unknown this language is however. Never translated, has it been. Worrying, its strength is."

"I knew how powerful it was already," Rafe replied, moving through the images. "What I don't understand... These always show the Eye watching over events, never actually taking part in them. And yet the firepower that it must have had to level Yehgast..."

He took a step back, looking carefully at the image in front of him. "This is familiar," he murmured to himself. "Something about this is damned familiar..."

* * *

On a planet with a major issue with dust and sand, it was nice to finally find a place where they weren't actually an issue, however temporarily.

Srael had found another archive to haunt, this one buried even further into the cliff face, but with fewer items on the shelves. The lighting here was also more obviously artificial, and there was a sense of a diminished interest in the death cult that subsumed the rest of the native society.

Possibly this was because the archive wasn't run by a native. A Snivvian, thin and with very bedraggled hair that spoke of a dire need for a wash and comb but was remarkably clean despite that, explained the state of the archive when Srael enquired.

"This archive was created just after contact was restored with the rest of the galaxy, shortly after the water vanished." As he spoke he rummaged through a mess that had been left behind on a desk, not entirely paying attention to the pair of them. "One of the natives made a fuss about being part of some cult... Uh... Cult of Rebirth," he said, remembering the name. "Said that they were dying out though. Something had happened on this world, and they were the only ones that remembered it. Or remembered why it happened. Or something like that," he added. "Anyway, the cult had built this archive, and they left behind, don't ask me how, funding for off-worlders to keep it open and running. It _had_ to be off-worlders, because none of the locals could be trusted to run it, because the first thing that the local shaman would do would be to shut it down."

"And you are the latest archivist?" Srael asked, stepping into the centre of the main chamber and looking around. The main chamber was a hexagonal space, with one side leading to the outside world, and the three sides opposite that all leading into deeper shelves. The main chamber was ten metres from corner to corner, whilst the shelving looked like it vanished another ten metres back into the cliff. Beside the entrance was a small room that looked to Tacha like the living space for whoever ran this place; it was small and lacked in grand amenities but possessed enough for a person with a lot to keep them busy to live in.

"That I am," the Snivvian replied, not entirely proudly. "It looked like good money: sit around and watch an archive that no one comes into. Every so often check that the books are in good condition, and repair them or make a new copy if you can't. It seemed so easy at the time..."

"But it won't let you rest, will it?" Srael asked knowingly. Tacha glanced at him, and realised that this had once more moved into a realm beyond the understanding of normal people. That was the one part of his job that had been really starting to get him annoyed on this world.

The Snivvian paused, hesitating, as if realising that he might have given away something important. Tacha felt the tension in the air as Srael scowled, and a vague, numb feeling crept into his mind, leaving him feeling that there was something that he had forgotten, or was meant to have done. He glanced at Srael, but the Inquisitor was ignoring him, focusing intently on the Snivvian.

"It won't let you rest, will it?" Srael repeated, his words carrying more of a force of command than they had done previously.

"It won't," the Snivvian replied softly, as if half asleep or not entirely aware that he was actually speaking. "It pushes me so hard... Even when there's nothing to do it pushes for something more to be done..."

"This place is alive," Srael declared, speaking more to Tacha now. "Through the Force this archive has a will of its own. Something to keep the details about what happened alive and protected until someone arrived to learn about it, or help them." He looked back at the Snivvian who had gone back to searching through the mess on the desk again. "Are you looking for something specific?"

"Yeah, that stuff you asked for," the Snivvian replied.

"But we didn't ask for anything," Tacha replied, glancing at Srael in confusion. There hadn't been a chance to ask for something specific yet; their first query had been about the Snivvian and the nature of the archive, and they still hadn't had an entirely satisfactory answer as far as Tacha was concerned, whatever the Inquisitor might think.

"Yes we did," Srael corrected him. "Just by being here and being interested in this we asked..."

Once again Tacha felt the comfortable and sane worldview that he had known so far being slowly knocked away from underneath him. He had never really known many Jedi, and their exploits had always sounded in some way fanciful, or even mystic. But this planet took things to a whole new level of bizarreness that was stretching the limits of Tacha's sanity.

The Snivvian abruptly pulled something out of a pile and held it up for them to see. "Here it is," he said, offering it to Srael. "The founding story of the Cult of Rebirth. It's probably the most copied document in the whole place," he added looking around. "If you want to see anything else then just give me a shout."

Before either of them could comment, the Snivvian walked off, returning to the living area and drawing a curtain across the doorway.

"Calm yourself lieutenant," Srael said, seeing Tacha's unhappy expression. "He's done what we needed him to do, and what the Archive needed him to do. We can afford to let him rest while we look through what he gave us."

"Sir? Were you serious? About this archive being alive?"

Srael nodded, gazing around slowly. "I can feel this place lieutenant... I can feel its pulse and its memories... Something in this Archive was set and shaped to protect it through the ages... Whoever built this place knew something about the Force that even the Jedi seem to have missed. And I want to know who they were and what they were doing it to protect."

* * *

The finely cut crystal caught the light impressively, blue light seeming to shine out from inside it as it was held up for examination. The piece had been cut in the shape of a four pointed star, and inscribed with swirling patterns across every surface.

The crystal itself was impressive, as was the workmanship that had gone into it. But those patterns... Something about the way that only part of the whole pattern seemed to be inscribed in each surface, that other parts of the overall pattern fell into place when the patterns on different sides overlapped with each other... Something about the way that those deeper patterns seemed to be shifting as you watched them and seemed to watch you right back was downright disturbing.

Rafe put the crystal down carefully, a distasteful expression on his face as he tried to avoid catching sight of any of the patterns. "That's a dangerous thing to leave lying around," he commented, forcing his gaze elsewhere.

"Powerful perhaps," Url replied. "Dangerous? Hardly." He stepped closer, jabbing a clawed finger at the crystal sharply. "Dangerous it is, only if mishandled."

"Yes, but mishandled by whom?" Rafe replied. "I've seen things like this before and every time I've found the Dark Side using the person holding it as often as the person holding it used the Dark Side."

"Claim greater experience, do you?" Url mocked. "Think you have seen more, do you?"

"Not necessarily greater experience," Rafe admitted. "But a friend of mine... She fell to the Dark Side and I had to bring her back. I've always been wary about such things, especially since what she was doing looked a lot more innocent than some of the stuff you've got here."

Url settled back into a more relaxed stance. "Betrayed, your feelings are," he said. "Fell because of you she did. _Guilty_ you feel about it."

Rafe cast a withering glance at Url. "Yes," he hissed, "she fell because of me. Because I was messing around with the Dark Side and never appreciated how much danger there was in that. I'm trying to tolerate the way that you dance with the Dark Side because you might have information that I need. Are you having trouble reading my feelings _now_?"

Url leaned back slightly, then looked away. "Betrayed, your feelings do not need to be," Url muttered. "Apparent enough they are already..." He indicated one of the blocked off shelves. "In there is what else you seek."

Rafe frowned, and then stepped up to the transparisteel barrier, his senses alert for a trap. There was nothing apparent as he slid the cover aside, and looked more closely at the shelf that had been indicated.

It was unusual for these shelves in that there was very little on it. Two books, both bound in some variant of leather and with gold strips along the edges, stood at one end of the shelf. The spines were inscribed with Sith runes, and Rafe could sense the Dark Side potential of the knowledge that they contained seething within them.

A crude wooden doll, humanoid and androgynous, stood next the books. At a glance it was so unsophisticated that it wouldn't even serve as a decent toy for a child, who should at least be allowed to expect a face of some kind on a doll. Closer inspection uncovered the faint traces of the Force within it, shifting slowly and gently. Rafe didn't dare to guess at its purpose, but the sense that he picked up through the Force was uncomfortably close to that of Atraas.

Most of the shelf was taken up by a long cylinder of marble, capped at both ends by a lump of intricately carved silver, and with a handle sticking out of one end, as if this was some kind of device that was meant to be cranked into action. A small plaque, looking like it was made of gold, had been attached to the marbled surface, and carefully inscribed with the letters 'ERC' in cursive Basic. As he looked at it, Rafe felt the subtle twists of the Force around it, neither of the Dark Side nor the Light, but able to shift easily between them like grass blown by the wind. This was a weapon in the more conventional sense; not evil in its own right, but responding only to the will of its wielder. In that, it was practically unique as far as Force empowered artefacts went.

The next artefact was more recognisable: a holocron. The squat three sided pyramid was made of some kind of crystal, at least on the outside, and had a pale yellow glow to it. Even sitting there, apparently inert, it radiated an unhealthy aura of darkness, and Rafe, despite being certain that he had found the cause of the trouble, moved on hurriedly, hoping that he was wrong.

The final items proved to be less likely to be useful however; an old weapon, a single-shot flintlock in an ornate style that rested on a display stand, and a rather old and faded looking black leather collar that was studded with silver and platinum, and had Sith runes carved from gold attached to it. Both of these reeked of the Dark Side, and yet neither of them was obviously connected to this world or its problems. In fact Rafe was fairly certain that the collar had nothing to do with this world at all, or its problems, but had been the cause of a lot of problems elsewhere.

He returned to the holocron, fighting down the wave of nausea that passed through him as he touched it. Sensing the presence of a Force User, the holocron lit up, a ghostly form appearing in the space above it and below the next shelf up. The holographic form was a head-and-shoulders view of a wispy looking alien with a humanoid head and neck, but tendrils gently wafting in the air around its head. Even in a semi-transparent holographic form, the creature appeared to have vaguely translucent skin. Its eyes were small holes in the projection, so black that the hologram couldn't even recreate even a barest reflection on their surface. The mouth was a small thing that rippled slowly as the hologram hovered there.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" the hologram asked, the words coming out as Basic, but not matching the motion of the creature's lips.

"My name is Rafe Belwynn," Rafe replied, trying not to be too disturbed by the lack of gaze from the hologram; totally black eyes were fine most of the time, because at least there was something to focus on. This was like focusing on an empty point in the middle of the air. "I'm a Seeker of the Jedi Order, and I want some information about the planet Neuook."

"A Jedi?" the hologram spat, without the face seeming to display any emotion at all. "I am Yophas Im Meer, and I have nothing to say to a Jedi."

"Then I have no further need for your holocron," Rafe replied. "I was taught a while ago how to wipe the memory of a holocron so that it could be reused; it's not a technique that we tend to use often, but I'm fairly certain I could manage it here..."

The hologram paused, before speaking slowly. "Ask what you will..."

"What do you know of the planet Neuook and the disaster that happened here?"

* * *

"According to this the natives were peaceful, and quite progressive," Srael declared, reading from the scroll that had been handed to them. "That could easily be just flowery language though; I've encountered enough self-aggrandizement over the years even before I started reading properly that I take that entire section dubiously.

"Then things get interesting," he continued. "Apparently there was... Some visitors arrived," he said slowly, seemingly having trouble interpreting the language. "There are some bits that suggest that they turned up from another world... This bit seems to say that they were natives..."

"Possibly both," Tacha offered. "Off-worlders who managed to get some of the natives on their side early on? In this kind of document it could be either."

"Especially given the language barrier we've got here," Srael agreed, looking more closely at the scroll. "It's written in Basic, but the common usage of Basic has shifted subtly over time, and it looks like this might have been translated through a couple of other languages along the way as well. Anyway... They would turn up seemingly from nowhere, that much is clear. They were some kind of... That's not even in Basic," he muttered as he considered the world in question. "From the description though it looks like some kind of carnival or travelling circus. The descriptions are a bit vague again," he admitted.

"Again, that would make sense," Tacha pointed out. "There was a five hundred year gap where this world was out of contact, so I suspect that this document was written third- or fourth-hand at least."

"That sounds likely," Srael agreed. "I just wish that I knew what they had been doing..."

* * *

"You're the Songsmith," Rafe declared, his tone going hard.

The hologram of Yophas Im Meer nodded. Its tone became gleeful, though once again its expression failed to change. "I am indeed. I am flattered that you recognise me."

"Oh I've heard of you," Rafe retorted. "I can't think of anyone else that would use a dance troupe as a weapon to destroy a world. Who were they?" he asked.

"You appear intelligent," the Songsmith replied. "I am certain that you can guess."

Rafe rolled his eyes. The Songsmith had been describing how it had come to Neuook during its glory days, and had begun to infiltrate the world. Once it had got going it had been entirely happy to continue talking, warming up to the subject and taking an apparent glee in the description of events.

The Songsmith was one of those legendary figures that haunted the Jedi archives and ballads, and like any such figure you had to wonder how much was conjecture, how much was creative license, and how much was actually true; in this case, Rafe had decided that it was probably true.

The Songsmith was meant to have been a Jedi who pioneered a new way of using the Force, using sound and motion to call upon it rather than simple calm thoughtfulness like the Jedi or anger like the Sith. Though this meant that it had been unable to achieve some simple things that even Younglings could learn to do, it had apparently opened up doors to more powerful uses of the Force, of the kind that only the most powerful Sith Lords like Exar Kun or Darth Nihilius had previously been able to achieve.

That might not have been a problem, if it hadn't insisted on using those capabilities in situations that didn't warrant it. Areas struck by drought could be brought back to life by the Songsmith's melody, and an entire population could be cured overnight of a disease by a sustained performance. But the more subtle power of it left the Songsmith open to trouble; a seemingly innocent ditty could be used to sway the thoughts of an entire crowd where a more conventional Jedi would require hours of effort to achieve the same result, whilst a harsh refrain could drive enemies against each other.

It was these more subtle uses of this technique that created trouble, and ultimately led to the Songsmith leaving the Order and fleeing into the unknown depths of the galaxy. Where apparently it had at some point ended up on Neuook.

"So who were they?" Rafe wondered aloud, "These people that helped you... A group of them. It had to be off-worlders to start with, because you couldn't teach something like this to the natives straight off..." He considered, and then cast a worried look at the hologram. "The Shadow Walkers..."

* * *

"The who?" Tacha asked, stepping closer to Srael so that he could read the scroll as well.

"The Shadow Walkers are a semi-mythical group of Force Users who have, depending on how you count it, been around for a number of centuries at least," Srael explained. "And like many such myths, there's a certain element of truth in this one.

"The Shadow Walkers were a group of Force Users from an obscure tradition, who sought immortality," Srael explained. "When a Force User dies, they can, with certain preparations, allow their spirit-self to live on as a conscious entity within the Force. Sometimes they can even make themselves manifest and speak to people using this trick. After a while though, Jedi who use this tend to merge fully into the Force, whilst some Sith have been known to keep themselves going for centuries or even millennia before succumbing.

"The Shadow Walkers, by some means that involved some kind of synergy, found that they could perpetuate themselves indefinitely if they worked together, and if they managed to meet certain other criteria. The legends suggest that these criteria include them being known, or having people's attention..." Srael trailed off as he frowned. "I wish I could remember more of that story."

* * *

"Teaming up with them must have been the best thing that ever happened to you," Rafe said to Yophas. "Your powers relied on people having a song-and-dance, and their continuity relied on people noticing them. And I know from personal experience that they can become physically manifest when they put their minds to it-"

"Met them you have?" Url asked, his tone slightly incredulous.

Rafe threw him a tight smile. "Starting to worry about how experienced I might actually be?" He nodded slowly. "I've met them. I made something of a study of their kind for a while there; different ways that people could use the Force, unusual tricks that people had mastered... All of the freaks of training and nature that the Order had records on. Right up until I discovered that I could see the Now and that _I_ was a freak as well."

He once more focused on Yophas. "They fell to the Dark Side eventually, like a lot of the really powerful Force Users do when they insist on using the Force too often; first you start to forget what other people can do without the Force, and then you forget to care... Even some Jedi do it, taking the words 'there is only the Force' slightly too literally and ignoring the physical world. The Dark Side can be failing to take action as well as taking action..."

"You preach well," Yophas commented.

"I've thought these things a lot over the years," Rafe replied sadly. "But the Shadow Walkers stopped caring," he continued, his tone becoming hard again. "They could keep themselves going indefinitely, but their first concern was always themselves rather than others. Self-interest..."

"Not always a bad thing is it," Url pointed out. "Food you must have. Time to relax you must have."

"But not at the expense of others," Rafe replied. Then he sighed. "I can't work out one thing though; what did you all get from this? How did this..." He trailed off, and then grinned slowly. "Oh you clever people," he said slowly to Yophas. "You _very_ clever people..."

* * *

"The daily rituals, the pilgrimages... They're all a continuation of that carnival," Tacha said slowly, wondering if he had understood the situation properly.

"Certainly," Srael said with a vicious grin. The intellectual challenge of this planet was appealing to him as few had done before. The sheer audacity of the unknown Force Users, shaping the entire culture of a world to their own ends, appealed to him as well, even as the scale of it startled him.

"This world was shaped through the power of the Force... The water was taken away and will always fade unless the proper rituals are performed. Those rituals give the Shadow Walkers the attention that they need to keep sustaining themselves. The pilgrimages... This entire planet," he said slowly, "is a single ongoing dance, with every facet of the culture primed like gears in the largest and most complex engine ever built, ticking over gently as they power the lives of... It's staggering," Srael declared.

"But where does the water go?" Tacha asked, wondering once more how literally to take the Inquisitor. "Surely it can't simply vanish into nothing..."

"Oh hardly," Srael admitted. "It has to go somewhere... But everything is connected through the Force, and so by extension every_where_ is connected as well... Teleporting a solid object in one go would be an impressive trick, and would probably require a totally new way of thinking about the Force to achieve. But the water doesn't go that fast, does it? Above normal evaporation rates... Given the sheer power that this planet generates for them that shouldn't be too hard for the Shadow Walkers to manage... And as for where it goes... It would be interesting to find out..."

* * *

"The entire planet as a single ongoing ritual," Rafe said, still marvelling at the idea. "Thought, word, and deed all harmonised to create a flow of power to a specific source. Only you could have thought of it," he admitted to Yophas, "and only they could have created a need for it. No wonder," he added, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "The Shadow Walkers would vanish for decades at a time, and then suddenly spring back up from nowhere... Now we know where they were hiding between times."

"Help you that will not," Url said with a faint smile. "Disrupted, this cannot be. Powerful it is. Too powerful now, for too long."

"Which just means that we need something of equal or greater power or time to match it," Rafe replied. "But that's only half of the story." He looked back at Yophas. "You had to get something out of all of this. For all of your skill, this couldn't have been a simple undertaking... Years of planning at least, followed by decades to..." He nodded slowly. "Immortality... I keep forgetting that I'm speaking to a holocron. They offered you membership, didn't they?" he said.

"Indeed they did," Yophas admitted. "What better thing could they offer? To live forever through the Force, to be a part of the song as it wound through the ages..."

Rafe barked a laugh. "I met someone recently who might disagree with you," he warned them. "A former Sith, who got trapped in an Oracle. Achieving immortality wasn't the problem; living with immortality was the quandary."

"If with experience you spoke on that, heed your words I might," Url replied heavily. "When my age you reach, think differently you will."

"If I reach your age, I doubt I'll be that active," Rafe pointed out. "Did it work though? Did you join with the Shadow Walkers?"

The holographic image shrugged, the single most expressive movement it had made so far. "What do I know? I witnessed my suicide, and my physical body's disappearance. My holocron was taken from this world by a smuggler and placed in the care of those I trusted. What more of my fate was as I planned than that, I do not know."

"So you... The original you... Might be listening in on this conversation right now?"

"I doubt it," Yophas admitted. "This world, the rituals that bind it, are self-sustaining after a while. I calculated that there would be a danger from outside influence for the first three hundred years, and so the ritual hid this world from the memory of the galaxy for that time, and longer, in order to let it prosper properly. By now there is no need even to tend to the world; momentum alone will hold it sway for as long as the world survives. Should anyone seek to disrupt it, even if they should succeed, there would still be enough power to claim all of the water of this world before the power ran out. Deny them their sustenance, and the Shadow Walkers will wipe the life from this world..."

* * *

"And so there is nothing that can be done for this world," Srael reasoned, reading through the final lines of the scroll. "The Cult of Rebirth formed from those who withstood the initial rituals, but they had no way of knowing that help would never come in time, and so they waited in vain. They had their own rituals to protect them, but over five hundred years their numbers dropped to critical levels, until it was only possible for off-worlders to be members.

"And now too much power has been invested in this world. Disrupt the rituals, and all of the water on the planet would vanish faster than it could be replaced. But leave this world intact, and it will continue onwards forever."

"Surely not forever," Tacha said. "This world will die sooner or later, just like any will. Natural disasters can't be avoided after all."

"Can't they?" Srael cast a questioning look at Tacha. "Even though this solar system had a number of comets, two asteroid belts, and no major planets to catch interstellar debris, this world has suffered a fraction of the number of natural disasters that even Coruscant has been through with all of its protection. Think about that: a world like Coruscant has planetary shields, orbital sensors and a small fleet to handle comets, asteroids and meteorites, and networks of subterranean sensors to pinpoint earthquakes, volcanoes... And yet this world has, with no apparent defences and more reason to be prone to them, suffered a tiny percentage of that number of disasters. _Something_ is holding this world together lieutenant..."

* * *

"So how did you end up with this holocron?" Rafe asked Url. "I presume that you didn't simply stumble onto it or something."

"Guided I was," Url replied, nodding wisely. "Guided to it."

"Who by?"

A faint smile touched Url's lips. "Palpatine." When Rafe looked startled he chuckled. "Surprised are you? Knew of this world the Sith did. Knew of the holocron as well. Found it the Jedi did, although knew what they had, they did not. But the Sith knew..."

"So Palpatine asked you to get the holocron out for him?"

"No," Url replied, his tone suggesting that Rafe has said something stupid. "Sought me for training he did. Plagueis began his training, but finish it _I_ did. Knowledge of the Songsmith, of the Shadow Walkers... Knowledge of other things," he added with a knowing smile. "Only later, after his rise, did I decide to leave the Temple."

"At which point you absconded with the holocron, amongst other things," Rafe added. "And somehow ended up coming here. I still don't understand that part. Why here?"

"Power there is here," Url reminded him. "Power to spare. Power to share."

"Power to join with," Rafe concluded. "You're after immortality as well of course."

"And why not?" Url retorted. "When _my_ age you reach, realise you will that much there is still to be done. Time enough there never is..."

Rafe sighed, mentally noting one more way that people could fall to the Dark Side; fear, anger and aggression where only the most common, and certainly not the only ones. Pride was another obvious one, which often led to the others by some route. He had heard of people falling because of curiosity, because of a lack of anything better to do... There was even a story he had heard about someone who had fallen to the Dark Side because they had tried so hard to follow the Code as seriously as possible and when presented with a banquet had simply lost it.

But here was a wish to see more, an innocent enough desire perhaps and one that Rafe would willingly admit to. There was always that interest in what lay around the next corner, in what might be hidden in the next shadow, in what the next day might bring. And there were never enough days.

"I can't help you there," Rafe admitted. "And I'm now stuck for what to do about this world; I can't exactly leave it in the hands of the Shadow Walkers... As I said, I've met them, and it wasn't a cheerful experience for either of us. But I can't exactly..." His voice trailed off as he felt something in the Now twitch in response to his words. "Or maybe not," he added in a faraway voice. "I think that someone just decided to do something about this whole situation without my help."

"What can we do exactly?" Tacha asked, as the Inquisitor flicked idly through another volume of records about the world and what had occurred there. "If you are correct about the fate of this world being in the hands of the Shadow Walkers-"

"This world is locked in two extremes," Srael interjected. "On the one hand it flourishes and so do the Shadow Walkers. Neither can be tamed by the Empire. On the other hand, at the far extreme that is the only possible state for this world to be in other than flourishing, this world dies and the Shadow Walkers are denied a major source of sustenance."

"And we already know that we cannot disrupt this world's culture in small ways to change it," Tacha pointed out. "The rituals will presumably either adapt themselves to the changes or will overwhelm them, making such efforts useless. Even we're beginning to fall for it," he added, considering the local shaman that had been visiting the command centre to bless their water supplies. "Which leaves us with nothing that we can do about it."

"There, I will disagree," Srael informed him. "I am an Inquisitor, charged with protecting the Empire from perils that the common soldiers cannot handle. My targets are numerous, ranging from insurgents, through rebels, through surviving Jedi, and other Force Users that do not fall into line with the Emperor's will. My duty is clear: the Shadow Walkers must be stopped, and if the destruction of a world that feeds them is the price, then the fact that this world produces an unhealthy number of unregistered Force Users is only a minor side issue that nonetheless adds to my determination. This world must die, if my duty is to be done."


	14. Flashback 6

_Eight months before the instigation of Order 66_

_The Silver River_

_High orbit over Costansis, Outer Rim Territories_

In the middle of the room, a lone figure sat and played. The melody that he brought forth from the instrument on his lap was a haunting refrain, a sad song that touched even the hearts of those who did not understand his language. Few would have believed before now that a Wookiee song, in a language that was normally harsh and impossible for many people to understand at all, could move them to tears.

Gyyhuunamung sang in perfect harmony with his yhitto, putting his soul into the tale of a love lost and families torn by such tragedy. The feeling that he imbued the music with touched every heart that heard it, and a silence had fallen over the room as the guests and crew members listened, enthralled by the display that was being put on for them.

As the last notes of the final chorus died gently away, the silence continued, broken only by a few tearful sniffles, before the applause started, and Gyyhuunamung rose to take a bow. A few credits were tossed in his direction by the most vulgar of the audience, who then found themselves being quietly admonished for their actions by the more refined sections.

Their host stood up slowly, his bulk making it hard for him to manage such an action at any real speed. Urmanst Ernan styled himself as a crime lord, and he certainly played the part well. But where other crime lords might seek to remain physically fit, he allowed his Neimoidian body to go to fat and flab, whilst encouraging the richest of guests and visitors to join him aboard the _Silver River_ rather than going to meet them.

He kept the applause going a bit longer, and then waved for silence. "Truly magnificent indeed," he declared. "Rarely do we see such a performance in this place..." He waved the applause back up again for a few seconds, before silencing them once more and turning to a droid standing next to his dais.

The droid was an odd design, with mismatching arms, a single photoreceptor set on one side of its head, and a used look to its shell. Most bizarrely, it was dressed in formal clothing in a Neimoidian style, complete with an ill-fitting hat.

"Sir," Ernan said, addressing the droid, "I am pleased that you brought this individual here to play for us today. And I hope that you will be able to stay for longer so that we may hear such unique talent further."

"Of course," the droid replied, bowing slightly. "I have much business to discuss, and so it would be an honour to remain. I trust that my staff with be well accommodated," the droid added, gesturing to the Wookiee, and then to a Mon Calamari who was propped up against one wall with a dreamy expression on her face.

"Quarters are being prepared as we speak," Ernan assured the droid. "And I am most intrigued by the business of one who can find and retain such talent as this..."

* * *

"Wretch," Srah muttered, shifting slightly and wishing that she had been able to arrange for a better hiding place for herself. The equipment jammed into the cubby-hole with her was generating just enough heat to make things very uncomfortable, and the jumpsuit that she was wearing was starting to cling in places from the sweat. The lump jammed between her legs, which she had taken care to place so that it wouldn't cause her any trouble, had shifted on the first lurch and was now well on the way to giving her blisters.

She tapped at a button on the datapad in her hand, working entirely from touch, unable to look directly at it because of the cramped space and the datagoggles that she was wearing which were linked to it. Her view switched from the audio/ video feed from Gates' photoreceptor over to the bug woven into Gyyhuunamung's baldric, giving her an unhelpful but instructive view of how to pack a yhitto away.

"Rhyydonning, are you ready?" she asked softly into the comlink at her throat. She was painfully aware that the instant someone spotted this channel she would be in trouble; even with the voice activated function in it, it was still risky.

There came a faint Wookiee growl back at her, and she tensed herself, getting ready to move. She watched as an aide approached Gyyhuunamung and handed him a security pass in order to get around the ship. Calmly, Gyyhuunamung slipped it into his baldric murmuring an assurance that it would be kept safe. Inside that pocket of the baldric a small scanner woke up, reading the security pass and copying the credentials from it in an instant. Whilst it was active it reached out, managing to snag the aide's credentials as well.

Both sets popped up on Srah's datagoggles, along with two more that Gates had managed to pick up already. All were low security passes, but there was probably enough, and so Srah bounced all four of them over to Tetee, who stirred briefly, and silently went to work on cracking the codes that would give them greater access to the ship.

They already knew a lot about the ship as it was; the security system was very high grade, but the Iridis Security and Data Protection Corporation had been only too willing to pass information about such systems to Lady Sarah Hyde when she spoke so highly of the security aboard the _Silver River_ and dropped hints about purchasing such systems for two of her ships. Similarly the shipwrights of Neimodia had been only too happy to discuss with Baroness Harh Deis the upgrades that they had made to an otherwise standard issue _Munificient_ class communications frigate that the Banking Clan had sold off when she had been discussing similar modifications to her flagship.

Now they just had to put the information together as fast as possible, before someone worked out that the droid that they had let aboard was actually quite heavily armed, that the Wookiee currently stowing a musical instrument was going to turn up in two places at once.

_Incomplete - Basically, they steal a ship_


	15. Chapter 8

_7 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Neuook, Outer Rim Territories_

"You stole a warship," Kyle said, shaking his head at the apparent absurdity of the idea.

"Sure. Then we ripped out most of the upgrades, sold it to the Separatists, sold the upgrades and the specifications to the Republic, and sold the cargo that had been onboard it to Atraas," she replied as if this was nothing special. "I think that it was finally destroyed at the battle over Coruscant a month ago, when Palpatine was captured."

"When he arranged for his capture," Kyle replied, raising a glass to her. "Remember, he was running both sides of the war, and Republic Intelligence could never understand why he was being kept alive at all, let alone kept in such a situation; according to the reports I saw he wasn't even being kept in a cell, it was more of a throne room."

"Whatever," Srah said. "Anyway, that's my offering. You want more, you need to make sure I make it off this rock."

Kyle considered, then shook his head. "I don't get this... Rhyydonning has a brother – a twin brother – and we haven't seen him yet. And the way that you're describing Rhyydonning at the moment... Is the one that I know someone different?"

"No," Srah replied. "And don't ask him about it," she added, her tone hard. "He won't be able to answer. Like I said: get us off this rock and we'll talk."

Kyle was about to object; that was a lot more mystery than he was willing to just leave sitting there for an indeterminate amount of time. Something that had been trying to get his attention for a while now actually managed to do so however: someone was paying a lot of undue attention to both himself and Srah.

"She's two tables back, over my right shoulder," Srah offered, her entire stance unchanged. "She's been hanging around since yesterday afternoon, following me around... I'd nearly got her pegged as working with Essan, but that's not his style, and anyway she doesn't feel right for it. Besides, I get the feeling that she's hiding from someone else and wants to be noticed by us."

Kyle frowned, his eyes flickering over Srah's shoulder and back again without the rest of his stance changing. The person that Srah was referring to was obvious enough; she sat alone, nursing a drink and a datapad that she read through with a quite convincing interest, occasionally tapping at the controls to jump back a page and reread something. She was a Bothan, with fur of a surprising shade of brown and green eyes that looked out at the world from beneath a set of goggles that had been pushed up onto her forehead. She wore an all-weather poncho on top of regular spacer clothing, and without obvious sign of weapons.

Kyle's sense of her through the Force told a different story however; her attention was focused on himself and Srah, but she was professional enough that she was genuinely aware of what she was reading, and he suspected was genuinely interested by it as well. A weapon of some kind was hidden in her belt; Kyle couldn't tell just from the sense of it what it was exactly, but he could tell that she was scared from the way that her attention flashed to it every time someone went past her.

"How much of what you just got was through the Force?" Kyle asked, sipping from his drink as he did, trying to build up enough saliva to mix with it that he could actually swallow it properly rather than having it end up plastered across his throat.

"A bit," Srah admitted. "I've been getting some practise," she added with a faint smile. "What do you want to do about her?"

Kyle shrugged noncommittally. "This is more your area. I'm not actually getting any hostility from her though... Just interest. And... Nervousness. She's scared of something."

Srah nodded and put her glass back on the bar, having somehow finished it without Kyle noticing; she never seemed to actually drink things, preferring to watch the way that the light shone through them, but they nevertheless ended up having been drunk, without the actual act ever occurring.

"Head out to the corridor," she advised him. "I'll be just behind you. Turn right, then stop at one of the alcoves along the corridor."

Kyle nodded in response, standing and leaving Srah to handle the cost of their stay since she had volunteered to go second. Keeping his senses open, he caught the reaction from the Bothan as the pair of them left, and was impressed by the professional edge that she displayed; she didn't even begin to move until they were most of the way to the door, and even then kept her pace steady rather than rushing.

As they stepped into the corridor, Srah abruptly stepped past him, increasing her pace and pulling him along after her. She ignored the first couple of alcoves, then slipped into the third, dragging Kyle after her. The alcoves were small; little more than archways that extended back a couple of metres into the wall. Kyle frowned as Srah jabbed at a discrete panel set into the side of the archway, and then looked around sharply when he felt a flicker-tightening of air pressure.

"It's a privacy field," Srah informed him. "Get the controls on the two alcoves that we passed before she sees them. Then tell me when she's coming."

Kyle nodded, reaching out through the Force and activating the controls built into the other two alcoves. An instant later, the Bothan stepped around the corner, her step measured and careful, and her focus apparently still on the datapad that she held. She even managed to convincingly nearly walk into someone as she stepped through the doorway.

"She's good," Kyle murmured as the Bothan approached their alcove, her step not even faltering as her sense revealed to Kyle that she had worked out that they were in one of the alcoves. "Here she comes..."

Srah nodded, standing right up against the edge of the privacy field, and as the Bothan passed them she jabbed a hand out, grabbing the poncho and pulling hard to drag the Bothan in with them.

For a moment it looked like she might protest, before she got a proper look at who had grabbed her. Holding up her hands in surrender, she looked between them, and sighed. "I suppose that it was inevitable that you would spot me," she said, not unhappily. "Assuming that you are indeed a Jedi," she added, looking at Kyle.

"I am," he admitted, his senses alert for any signs of trouble. So far there was nothing to suggest anyone had spotted anything happening, although the main thing that his senses were aware of was the rather potent perfume that the Bothan was wearing.

"In that case, I must admit that I need your help," the Bothan informed him.

"You need my help?" Kyle asked, surprised by that one.

She nodded. "My name is Biree Fla'bek. I am a member of the Bothan Spynet. I was sent to this world to investigate certain... Underworld activities that Atraas was involved in. Hints that he was supplying ships and equipment to the Separatists. The probably wouldn't have been able to do anything about it at this end of course, but we would at least have been able to tell them what was going on and give their Assets Tracking division an idea of what to look for."

Kyle glanced at Srah, who was frowning. He wasn't sure whether the shipjacker was annoyed about her activities being spotted or worried by it.

"My activities here were entirely covert, and quite successful," she admitted. "Then the Jedi Order came under attack and it was suddenly declared that the war was over. I may have been incautious, or they may have simply got lucky, but someone found out that I was here and now I find myself with a bounty on my head."

"So why come to us?" Kyle asked. "Every surviving Jedi has a bounty on their head as well."

"Perhaps safety in numbers then?" Biree suggested. "Perhaps something else. In either event I've kept myself as safe as I can. I only require passage off-world, which I suspect that you will be trying to arrange as well given the trouble last night."

Kyle nodded at that one, the admission not really losing them anything. "Okay. But why not go to Atraas? He'd be able to help a lot more than we could."

"Why not indeed," Biree said with a faint smile. "Apart from the fact that he is unlikely to take kindly to someone admitting to having spied on him, especially when he placed the bounty in the first place."

"Atraas placed the bounty?" Kyle asked, slightly shocked at that, before his brain caught up with his mouth and he frowned.

"Yeah," Srah informed him. "He's kept it reasonably clean while we've been here, but he's still a crime lord, and he's not going to take it well if someone spies on him." She looked at Biree. "What I don't understand is why you're still in his palace at all..."

"Despite knowing that I am here, they actually know very little about me," Biree replied. "They know that someone has been spying on them, and they know that this person has made it into Atraas' office. Beyond that the only thing that they have to go on is a pheromone trace that they must have recovered from his safe after I opened it. All of the wraith-droids that are on guard are sniffing for me. They can't operate in the more public areas of the palace without arousing alarm and concern..."

"But they can guard all of the doors," Srah reasoned. "Hence the perfume as well," she guessed.

"Indeed," Biree admitted. "It seemed prudent to make use of an obvious disguise rather than hiding myself away. It would not fool any of the wraith-droids if I tried to leave however, and I cannot remain indefinitely. You will presumably be leaving by a clandestine means, and I ask you to try and include me when you do leave."

"I can't guarantee that we'll get out without having to pass a few of those wraith-droids on the way," Srah admitted. "But... There's no reason that we can't at least try. We're already looking into ways of getting out, aside from the ones that we know about, so if we can find one then we'll be happy to help you. But if Atraas is after you..."

"If he catches me then I will endeavour to keep any mention of you from what I tell him, at least until you have had a reasonable chance to get away," she assured them. "I know how this game is played captain Heid. In the mean time I will distance myself from you, until you should contact me. I am staying under the name of Tereez Nay'hag, as a cartographer for the Republic Interstellar Survey. My recent disinclination to travel I have explained by the change of leadership and an uncertainty about my employment options."

"Okay, we'll tell you if we find anything," Kyle assured her. "Just be aware, we may need to be leaving at a moment's notice. We're not planning on doing so, but we might end up having to hurry."

"Rest assured, my bags have been packed and waiting for nearly a week," she informed him, "and I've taken to carrying anything that I couldn't bear to leave behind on my person as well. This won't be the first time that I've had to leave somewhere in a hurry."

"I won't ask," Kyle muttered, turning his senses outwards again. "What about once we get off-world? How are you going to handle things then? We've got various priorities of our own to worry about."

"Oh, I shall probably be able to find a way back to my people," she assured him. "I should only need a few hours to make contact and establish how easily that will happen. And if I can't... Well, you're a Jedi without an Order, travelling with a shipjacker. I'm sure that I could make myself useful to you somehow."

"I'm liking the sound of that," Srah admitted. "Anyway, we need to split for now... Kyle?"

"It's as clear as it's going to be," he informed them. "No one in this section of the corridor and it doesn't look like anyone's heading this way."

"Then I will leave you for now," Biree said. "I suggest that you give me a moment before leaving as well." Without waiting for a response, she stepped through the privacy field and vanished down the corridor once more.

"Shouldn't we have left first?" Kyle asked Srah. "We came out first after all."

"Yeah, but we're the ones that can justify being in here with the privacy field active, and she can't," Srah replied. "The more attention we attract the less she's going to get. What was your take on her?"

"She was telling the truth as far as I could tell," Kyle told her. "You'd need Rafe to get a better idea than that; he's the one with the training in that kind of stuff."

"Fair enough. So now we just need a way for all of us, and her, to get out of here."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Kyle pointed out. "You've got your team working on it, and now our part of things is done we can be getting on with it as well."

"Yeah, but it's going to be trouble trying to get a way out that doesn't require us to go past a wraith-droid that might take a sniff at her."

"So we suddenly need a distraction," Kyle reasoned. "Something to get the wraith-droids away from an exit that we know about."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Srah warned him. "We still need to find a way out that we can actually use. At the moment it's either the front door or the back door, and we can't easily clear the wraith-droids from either of those _and_ still get at the door."

* * *

Sthynn moved lightly through the hallways, his jacket in disarray, his step wobbly and a piece of a local vine woven around his antennae and trailing down over his shoulder. The smell of local beverages hung around him as he meandered along the corridor weaving in and out of the various people who stepped aside rather than have anything to do with the drunken Rodian.

He avoided staggering into a pair of Duros by the barest margin and insisted on apologising in heavily slurred tones as they hurried away from him. As they rounded the corner he allowed the drunken act to fall away from himself for a moment, looking around somewhat guiltily, before looking down at the datacards that he now held in one hand and the bracelet in the other.

He wasn't feeling guilty for taking them. Given his chosen profession that would be foolish. But he was a bit ashamed about having picked on such easy targets when there were richer pickings around.

Slipping his prizes into his jacket's inner pocket, he set off again, and anyone watching him might have almost suspected that they were looking at two different people; as he approached the turning in the corridor he strode quickly and purposefully, though with a deathly silence, but as he rounded the corner his step faltered, and suddenly there was a Rodian, decidedly the worse for his drinking, staggering along and mumbling as he went.

Thus far, he had been unable to find even a hint of another way out of the palace, aside from a loading area that the workers had been forced to turf him out of after he had blundered into it in search of something to drink. One of them had very kindly pushed a bottle of something into his hands on the way out in order to shut him up, but he hadn't yet dared to drink any of it; the smell alone had suggested that it was more useful for working with engines than for drinking.

The loading bay had initially appeared to have potential, until the large number of wraith-droids on loading duty had become apparent. At that point Sthynn had allowed himself to be escorted out.

Since then he had been moving more or less at random, bumbling around and trying to find something useful. Thus far it hadn't gone well. No one had actually objected to his presence yet, and in a palace like this he was fairly certain that no one would, but he felt that the poor-drunk role was going to wear thin soon. If all else failed the constant smell of alcohol was getting on his nerves.

Determined to stick it out for a few more minutes at least, he staggered around a corner, and rebounded off what initially appeared to be a wall of fur, but resolved itself into the figure of one of the Trobi arms dealers that was visiting the palace.

Keeping to his act as best he could, Sthynn continued the rebound as naturally as possible, staggered into a wall, and was about to walk off again when the Trobi reached over with alarming speed and put a restraining hand heavily on his shoulder. For a moment the figure contemplated him, and it was only by a quite severe effort of will that Sthynn maintained his act in the face of such determined scrutiny. After that moment, the Trobi reached up with his free hand, pulling part of his lower jaw away and holding it carefully.

"You are of those that have travellings with the Jedi?" the Trobi asked.

Sthynn cast a hurt look at the hand that was weighing down on his shoulder, and then nodded blearily when it became clear that the Trobi had no interest in his discomfort at that point. "I am," he added, his tone suitably slurred.

"You must be telling to the Jedi that we are desirous of to speak to them. It is a matter of urgency to we of the _Setting Sons_, and should be of such quality to the both of them." For a moment the Trobi paused, allowing those words to sink in, before abruptly turning and leaving.

* * *

Sand was washing over the side of the skiff as it glided over the heads of the pilgrims that trudged through the tomb valley. Down there they were almost protected from the wind that had picked up, sheltered by the walls of the valley and the occasional overhang.

Up here on the other hand, it was very different. The more dignified means of transport, which should have been an honour for an important visitor, was turning into a nuisance.

"I can feel this sand beginning to corrode my circuits, I'm sure of it," complained AS-DC from where it sat, huddled beneath three layers of native robes.

"Stop complaining," Emi replied half-heartedly, not looking down at the droid. She sat upright, in defiance of the wind, gazing out across the open expanse and wondering once more whether any amount of reward would make this dustbowl worth coming to. Even her repair bills were looking quite steep already; she wasn't going to mention it to AS-DC, but her armour's visor was showing signs of sand damage already, and she wasn't going to trust any of the gear that wasn't firmly stowed until she had managed to get it properly cleaned out.

"How much further," she called to the native that was piloting the skiff, glancing around once more. The desert appeared to stretch in all directions, interspersed with more tomb valleys. The entire horizon was taken up by three mountain ranges and a set of hills that they appeared to have been heading for ever since they left the joke of a spaceport that the locals had put up.

"Not long," came back the almost inaudible reply from the front of the skiff, the words almost lost in the sound of the wind. The native was the only other person onboard the skiff at present, and once again Emi found herself wondering whether this was really such an honour, or whether Atraas just wanted her there quickly. The message had said that the business was urgent, but nothing more than that.

Sitting back and allowing herself to relax, aware that the native wasn't even going to really dignify her by looking at her, Emi activated her armour's comlink and spoke to AS-DC. "Remind me what we know about this world..."

For a moment there was no response, and Emi was about to reach over and prod the droid when its voice came through her earpiece, unheard by anyone else.

"It's mostly a barren wasteland. We're heading for the second largest city on the planet, which has the largest population of off-worlders. The largest city is over a hundred kilometres away, and has no off-world population in it. Standard supplies for power packs and energy cells are known to be available around this city. The natives are descended from near-human stock, but are heavily adapted to the lack of water that is available on the planet."

"Tactical assessment?" she asked, cutting the droid off.

"The natives represent a low threat," AS-DC summarised. "Their adaptation leaves them vulnerable to physical injury. However they have also adapted to moving quickly and so represent a harder target. The local environment is harsh and any prolonged effort outside the cities or away from convoys will likely be fatal."

Emi nodded slowly, wondering about that. This planet was a harsh place indeed, and she had no intention of remaining any longer than she needed to. With a bit of luck though, Atraas would have a shower available in his palace when she got there.

* * *

The evening meal had been postponed indefinitely by Atraas while he met with a guest. The buffet style of the breakfasts and the previous day's dinner was being abandoned for one meal only he assured them, and they would resume as normal the next morning. In the mean time, meals were being delivered to individual quarters.

For both of the Jedi and Srah's team, this was acceptable; none of them wanted particularly to mingle at that point having spent most of the day mingling one way or another.

"So what did we all find then?" Srah asked as she sat back with a laden plate of food.

"We have thus far located several places where it might be possible to effect an exit from this palace beyond those that we know of already," Gates informed her from where he sat, bolt upright, across the room from her. "One is a loading bay and so would not be discrete, but would be effective. Another appears to be a personnel entrance and is heavily guarded. A third is a back-door leading down a tunnel to a non-descript building some distance away. The last is an air-passage leading up to the cliff-top. All except the last are accessible for normal humans. The last appears to be protected by dust-repulsion fields and more aggressive deterrents, and would be impossible for any of us to climb."

"The problem with this is that we've been asked to take someone with us," Kyle pointed out. "She's a member of the Bothan Spynet, and she was here spying on Atraas. She can't call for back-up without giving herself away, and the Republic doesn't exist to help her, so she turned to us."

"Does Atraas know who she is?" Rafe asked from one corner of the room where he was putting a bib on a struggling Rees.

"They've got a pheromone trace off her apparently," Srah replied. "She gets too close to one of the guard wraith-droids, and the games up."

"That presents an unnecessary complication," Gates informed them. "Our probability of getting away from this planet cleanly is low enough already without such complications."

"Nonetheless, we'll help if we can," Rafe insisted.

"Agreed," Srah confirmed. "Besides, I doubt that any of these other options are going to do us much good; we need to get outside the city rather than just out of the palace, and that's going to be tricky..."

"We've already got to get Essan out with us," Kyle pointed out. "Biree could just go with everyone else while we take him through the back door."

"That still gives us the issue of the wraith-droids are the front entrance though," Sthynn pointed out. "Those leaving are searched along with those entering the palace. She would be discovered."

"There are ways around a pheromone check," Rafe assured him, handing a bowl of dried fruit to Rees. "I'd need to know how much of a trace they got and how sensitive they are..."

"Since when did you know how to get around things like that?" Kyle asked.

Rafe shrugged. "Doing backwoods work on non-human worlds you pick up all sorts of things. There's one place I stopped before I met you where the natives had a system of scent-marking for ranks. Then some slavers came in and tried using pheromone trackers to work out who was valuable. Of course the natives were ready for this one and effectively randomised their scents for a few hours while Master Sirrin and I arranged for the slavers to he arrested." He looked pensive. "I'm fairly sure I remember how to do it. It wouldn't last long, and I can't definitely say that it would work at all with a Bothan..."

"I think that clears up one problem," Kyle said with a grin.

"Yeah and there's another," Rafe commented. "I've found out some of the history about this world. I hate to say this, but Url being on this world isn't random chance; he's here because of the Shadow Walkers and the Songsmith."

"Aw, Sithspit," Kyle muttered.

"The who and the who?" Srah asked.

"The Songsmith was a Jedi who worked out how to use sound and motion to access the Force rather than the usual methods," Rafe explained. "It lived a long time ago, and came to this world, assisting the Shadow Walkers in turning this place into a source of sustenance.

"As for the Shadow Walkers... I met them about twelve years ago, but I'd read about them several times before then. They found a way to become Force Spirits without becoming one with the Force. Effectively that granted them immortality, of a sort. But they need to be noticed in order to retain that immortality...

"There was trouble on a middle-rim world called Yennin," he continued. "A group of locals had suddenly taken up arms and were causing trouble. The Yostath weren't a problem to anyone really, because most of the rebels were just farmers or regular workers, but they had dug themselves in, and the Seers of the Green Glass Hall declared that there was trouble there. Master Sirrin and I were sent, along with Master Barrah and his Padawan, Ael Trimaris."

"That one must have hurt," Srah commented with a grin. When Kyle frowned at her she smiled knowingly. "Rafe and Ael could never get on with each other, right from the word go."

"_Anyway_," Rafe interrupted, trying to get back on topic, "we went to Yennin, and got into the caves that the rebels were using as a base. Then we found out what the trouble was; the Shadow Walkers had moved in. They had corrupted a number of the locals, using them as an audience to feed themselves whilst stirring up some trouble in the process.

"Eventually we managed to stop them... But it wasn't pretty and a number of the locals were killed by the backlash from the Dark Side when we cut off the Shadow Walkers. We stayed there for another few weeks to help sort out the mess before heading back to Aounam."

"I always wondered where Ael got that scar from," Srah mused. "He never would tell me."

"He didn't have a good time there," Rafe admitted. "Martial training wasn't much good against the Shadow Walkers, and that was all that he had to use against them."

"I'd heard of the Shadow Walkers before," Kyle admitted. "But I never heard about that incident."

"It wasn't exactly anyone's finest hour," Rafe admitted. "Besides, the only Jedi involved were from Aounam, and Coruscant tends to ignore our activities in such missions. And of course, if we ignored the Shadow Walkers properly then they would vanish. Or that was the theory."

"Now they're not going to because they've got an entire planet powering them," Kyle agreed. "So how do we get rid of them?"

"I... I almost don't think that we have to," Rafe said uncertainly. "When I was talking to Url about it, I sensed that someone else had decided to deal with the situation instead. I don't know who, or how, or when, but someone else out there is aware of the situation and plans to handle it."

"That sounds like one problem that's been taken off our hands then," Srah declared, clapping her hands together decisively. "So... When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow evening," Kyle replied. "Rafe needs time to get things sorted and make sure that he can sneak Biree out, and we need time to clear customs. I'll get started on the paperwork now, but we should be aiming to leave here as close to when he can leave as possible so that we can minimise the time when people might spot us hanging around."

"Okay, tomorrow evening it is," Srah declared. "I'll make sure that I've got the paperwork sorted to pass the _Vagrant Soul_ over to Atraas so that I don't get hounded for it, and we can be moving just after dinner."

* * *

Emi picked at her food, her natural caution and the sight of Atraas eating causing to forget her own hunger. There was an impressive array of food considering that it was effectively the two of them sharing the meal, and she almost gave in to her hunger once or twice. The toothless maw of a Hutt though, even one that had learned not to talk with his mouth full, was enough to put her off however.

AS-DC sat beside her, the perfect image of a protocol droid waiting on its master. Based around a 3-PO shell, he was a dull red colour normally rather than the polished silver or gold of most designs. Most people commented that he was a lot quieter than most protocol designs though, which Emi always assured them was a custom modification. It was. The second modification had been to ensure that he made _some_ noise when he moved.

KU-NMC3 waited beside Atraas, the more peculiar design of droid not actually appearing out of place in amongst the iconography of death that haunted the place. Emi suspected that KU-NMC3 and AS-DC were both similar in two very important respects; neither of them was entirely what they appeared to be, and both of them were very dangerous in their own ways.

Business had been limited thus far; after she had arrived, Emi had found herself escorted to quarters and given the chance to change into something other than her armour. Although she had appreciated this opportunity to get out of it, the idea of formal clothing for female humans that Hutts had wasn't really her style. Thus, after a shower that had lacked any real value of satisfaction due to the fact that running water couldn't be wasted in that quantity and so it had been more like a light mist than a shower, she had attired herself in a beige jumpsuit with a few tactful pieces of light armour alongside her equipment vest, and allowed herself to be escorted to dinner. Combined with her close-cut blond hair, good looks, and confident manner, she knew from unfortunate experience that she was enough to set the pulses of males from a number of species racing.

Atraas was wearing what probably counted as a business suit for a Hutt; a long cloak that hung across his back and tail from roughly where his neck would have been, and a waistcoat of sorts that was marked with a pair of ornate skull designs on each breast.

"You did not eat much," he commented to her as wraith-droids cleared away the remains of the meal.

"I'm not particularly hungry," she informed him, only making a small lie out of it in the process. That last course that Atraas had got through had indeed finished off her appetite; Hutts didn't have teeth, possessing toughened nodules of cartilage along their lips, distended jaws, and a shredding organ at the back of their throat, and seeing a Hutt go through the local food would try any stomach. "I'm also eager to get round to business," she added.

"Of course," Atraas agreed. "And it is important business," he added, shooing the wraith-droids out. Once the four of them had been left alone, Atraas settled back, becoming more serious very suddenly. "I need you to find someone for me," he declared.

"I'm a bounty hunter," Emi reminded him. "That's what I do."

"Indeed," he agreed. "But this will be harder than some. Someone broke into one of my offices and gained access to my safe. My own people have been unable to track down this individual, beyond locating a pheromone trace that they left behind."

"They haven't found anything else?" Emi was impressed by that. A pheromone trace would normally be harder to trace than any regular evidence.

"We believe that we are up against an expert," Atraas admitted. "I need you to track down this person quickly. I have placed a bounty, but I have been unable to give specifics, and so many bounty hunters lose interest quickly. You are known for your skill in such intrigue though."

Emi had to admit that this last point was true; her grandmother had been the Padawan to a Jedi Investigator, and while that sort of thing shouldn't run in the family, she had inherited a knack for finding people and things. AS-DC was a lot better at it of course, but that was what it was built for. Despite testing several times, she had never inherited her grandmother and mother's talent for touching the Force, which had upset them both somewhat, although perhaps not as much as her choice of career.

"I'll need all of the details that you have available," she informed him. "As well as a list of all of the suspects, as well as those that you've dismissed as suspects. I'll then need some time to review it before I can say whether I'll be taking this on or not. And you should be aware that by calling me here like this, you're effectively hiring me. My fee will be additional to any bounty for this."

KU-NMC3 visibly bristled at this apparent mistreatment of its master, but Atraas merely nodded calmly. "This is the information," Atraas informed her, nudging the major-domo with the tip of his tail, prompting the droid to hand over a datapad. "I will need a commitment within an hour, or I cannot pay your fee," he cautioned her.

Emi glanced over the datapad, speed-reading the important bits, before handing it over to AS-DC. The droid read it in about the same amount of time, but absorbing the details much faster and more completely than Emi could. Already, she knew, it would be considering possibilities that whoever Atraas had called in first would never have thought of. By the time they made it back to their shared quarters, they might even have an answer.

"You'll have your answer," Emi assured the Hutt, standing and bowing before heading for the door, with AS-DC in tow.

She was startled somewhat when KU-NMC3 followed her as well. The major-domo allowed the door to close behind them, before speaking.

"I am informed that you take open bounties sometimes, as well as commissioned ones," the droid informed her.

"That's true," she admitted cautiously. Independent droids had always gotten on her nerves, and this one had the kind of edge that suggested it was only a few steps away from being independent, or at least haywire.

"There are a number of individuals here who would no doubt attract your attention then," KU-NMC3 declared. "Significantly though, I would draw your attention to two of them: they are both Jedi, against whom the Emperor himself has issued an open bounty. They are staying within this palace, and my master has seen fit to give them sanctuary."

"If your master has given them sanctuary, then why are you telling me about them?" she asked. "Unless you're warning me to stay away from them."

"I believe that my master has made a mistake in allowing them to remain here," the droid replied. "I do not ask you to confront them directly," it continued, "but your taking an interest in them might provoke them into leaving. At that point I can provide you with details about their transport off-world, likely route and mode of travel to the spaceport-"

"Forget it," Emi replied curtly. "I'll take open bounties, but not if it means risking the anger of my host like this. Find someone else to do your dirty work," she suggested as she turned and stalked away.

Independent droids. Can't live with them... _And that's about all there is to it_, she concluded.

* * *

KU-NMC3 stood in the corridor for a moment, considering. Despite everything, he wasn't truly independent, at least as far as instructions from Atraas went. Orders from other sources could be interpreted, selected from, and ignored.

"Find someone else," he murmured to himself. This order, he decided, was a good one to follow.

* * *

The quarters assigned to the Trobi were uncomfortably small for them, Rafe guessed. Any Trobi were of course used to such things, and as devout pragmatists would never complain, or even expect any less of their hosts. The two traders had settled into quarters that they could barely fit through the door of with the kind of calm acceptance that would be an inspiration to even some Jedi Masters.

With two Jedi in there as well it was even more cramped, although Rafe did consider that it shouldn't really seem that much more cramped; two Trobi took up quite a lot of room compared to a couple of Jedi.

"It is good that you are being here," Loktan informed them, having once again removed his jaw to allow Kyle to understand the conversation. "We have much speaking to do with you before you are leaving. We are of needings to be knowing your intents for the futures."

Rafe, more used to aliens with a mangled idea of Basic grammar, beat Kyle to that one. "That depends," he said cautiously. "What are you hoping that we'll be doing?"

Loktan frowned, an exaggerated expression on his over-large features. "We are having a plan for the future. It is not of our plannings, but our doings are because of it. Darkness has become to the galaxy, and we are of intent to fight it."

"If you're talking about Palpatine," Kyle said slowly, "then you're also talking about going up against the combined power of what used to be the Republic."

"This is of our knowings," Loktan admitted. "Our own plannings are based around this fact. We are of intent to be supplying weapons to those that will be intent to fight this Empire."

"Aside from the Jedi, who exactly is going to fight the Empire?" Kyle asked. "I mean, in an organised manner that you people could make use of," he added hastily.

"There will be some," Loktan assured them. "The Senate is of rumblings already about such laws that have already been passed, as well as of the Emperor's disappearance."

"His disappearance?" Rafe asked, surprised by this news. "Where is he?"

"We are not of knowings," Loktan admitted. "Our Senator is hearing of rumours that someone being of significant to Palpatine has found trouble; the ship he was observed to being departed in carries much medical equipments."

Kyle and Rafe exchanged a look. Anakin Skywalker had looked near to death when Rafe had last seen him, and he had spoken about Palpatine as his Master.

"Mustafar is a good couple of days travel from Coruscant, even for something as fast as the _Long Shot_," Kyle pointed out. "For anything else, even the best military ships, it's closer to four days. So if he's been out of touch for a few days then he _could_ have been going to pick up Skywalker..."

"Who is this Skywalker?" Loktan asked, looking between the pair of them.

"He's a Jedi, or was anyway," Rafe answered before Kyle could get into a rant. "A couple of nights ago we witnessed him fighting his Master on the planet Mustafar. He was left badly injured, but we got the impression that he was still alive, and that he was working with Palpatine."

Loktan nodded slowly. "This would be explaining much," he admitted. "And presses our need for alacrity," he added. "With the vanishing of the Emperor, there is void. Many voices that will be stilled when he returns try to fill this void. We are of intent to ignite this void to war against the Sith."

Rafe and Kyle shared a concerned look at this announcement. "You're talking about open war, when the fighting is still going on in some parts of the galaxy," Rafe pointed out. "The droids might have been shut down, but there are still large numbers of Separatists that didn't rely on droids for soldiers, and they're still fighting the clones."

"And they must continue to do so," Loktan insisted. "We are of intent to withdrawn from the Empire, as our loyalty is to the Republic. By the drama of our departure, the clones must be turned on us, as an example."

"Hang on," Kyle interrupted, "you're deliberately trying to get them to turn the clones on you? You do know what the clones will do when they go to your worlds don't you?"

"Of course they do," Rafe said softly. "Trobi are pragmatists by nature. The only way to remove the Sith from power is to ignite the galaxy against them. If that means plunging the galaxy into another war, then so be it. If it means their own people dying, then so be it. That is what must be done, and so they'll do it."

Loktan's companion, Benamet, spoke in verostin, his language unintelligible to Kyle, though Rafe understood it well enough. [You understand the laws of Kreb well,] he informed Rafe.

"As I said before, I've met your people before now," he said carefully. Kreb, the Trobi term that was sometimes translated as 'fate' but more accurately meant the inevitable path of history that the Trobi followed by their nature, was a difficult concept for some races to handle. Any race tried to run contrary to Kreb, running against the grain of the universe and forcing it, most often futilely, to move to their whim rather than allowing it to guide them as the Trobi did.

They were almost unique in that regard. Even their culture and traditions were almost totally malleable, with rites and traditions abandoned overnight because they no longer served a purpose where other races would keep them going simply for the sake of it. They were never forgotten of course, lest they should become useful again. But the Trobi followed the whim of the universe in all things.

"What about the remaining Jedi?" Rafe asked suddenly as the thought occurred to him about groups that were no longer useful being cast aside.

"They are of significance," Loktan assured him. "Yours is a voices of reason that spans the millennia. The Jedi must survive in some form, to lead the fire to the Sith."

"And that's probably as far as the plans go right now," Rafe guessed, drawing a nod from Loktan. He sighed as he considered. "I wish that I could say that this will go well," he said slowly, and carefully. "But I would just as soon not see your people get themselves killed needlessly. Somehow though, I don't think that I'll be able to convince you not to do so..."

* * *

A collection of trinkets hung from a chain that was clasped tightly between tense fingers. It was almost impossible to see it beneath the plain desert robes that the figure wore, obscuring every feature that could identify it.

Despite the clandestine, if not downright suspicious appearance that the figure presented, none of the wraith-droids that it encountered on its way down through the dungeon level of the palace even attempted to slow it down. Some of them hovered aside, allowing the figure to pass, while one moved to stop a pair of guards from getting in the figure's way. The figure passed them all by, mysterious, unknown, and clearly powerful.

It moved with a purpose, not wavering, or hesitating when it came to junctions or passageways. It turned when necessary, always holding one course, one destination.

In the deepest recesses of the dungeon level, it finally stopped outside a cell. The occupant was bedraggled from a lack of proper attention, or the chance to tidy himself up properly for nearly a day. His single cybernetic eye looked up dolefully as the figure stopped outside his cell.

"Is it time to go now?" he asked, not seeming especially worried or even interested. "The Jedi said that they would be taking me with them when they left, and I don't think anyone was meant to be allowed to speak to me until then."

The figure outside the cell simply watched for a moment longer, and then raised his hand, revealing the chain of protective trinkets. "This conversation should not be monitored," he announced, casting a quick glance up and down the corridor to ensure that they were alone. Then, carefully, he drew back the hood of his robe.

"Duncan Essan, I need to know how to contact the Inquisitor," KU-NMC3 announced.


	16. Chapter 9

_8 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Neuook, Outer Rim Territories_

Eating alone was apparently something that was not done in Atraas' palace.

That was a problem for Emi; her meals were habitually taken alone – accompanied by AS-DC who didn't really count to her mind – or were select affairs with clients to discuss business. Being required to attend a communal meal in this manner in the main chamber of the palace was something that she wasn't keen on doing.

But since it was join in or go hungry, she had little choice. AS-DC had assisted her in picking out a suitable garment for the meal – more relaxed than the one that she had worn for the previous meal, with less obtrusive armour plating, but a more obvious weapon – and had fallen into its role of protocol droid and translator as usual.

It was however, fussing more than usual, which annoyed Emi. "Calm down," she ordered. "No one knows why I'm here yet, so this spy won't be on the look out for us."

"I confess I am more concerned about the Jedi that KU-NMC3 informed us about mistress," AS-DC replied. "Should they realise that you have been asked to deal with them they may prove dangerous."

"I very much doubt that any Jedi would be at a meal like this," Emi replied. "I'm not the only bounty hunter here after all."

AS-DC looked around, and then pointed to an alcove on the far side of the chamber. "They are both over there."

Emi looked around sharply, following the droid's gesture to one of the alcoves. Three people were sitting in it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Two of them, one male and the female, looked like career spacers from their clothing; it was a generic style that fitted into spaceports the galaxy over. The other male was dressed less like a spacer, his clothes having a certain generic feel to them, but their appearance suggesting that they were intended for handling weather rather than simply being intended to hold together for long periods.

"Are you certain?" she asked AS-DC, wondering whether she had left its memory wipe too long. None of the trio looked like Jedi; she had always pictured Jedi as being older than any of those three, and she was sure that they had rules about the uniform that they were meant to wear.

"They arrived three days ago. Apparently one of the Jedi has been running a freighter for a number of years, and the other has been acting as his co-pilot recently. The female with them is a shipjacker who has been working for Atraas for a number of years."

"They don't look like Jedi," she pointed out.

"They would hardly be likely to still be alive if they _looked_ like Jedi," AS-DC countered. "There are clones patrolling the streets and even the local Force-users have been discovered and waylaid by unknown means. However these two Jedi entered this palace, they would no longer be travelling in their normal robes, even assuming that they did so normally."

Emi frowned at the trio sitting in the alcove, until one of them looked up suspiciously, as if sensing her gaze upon him. Their gazes met for a moment, before Emi turned away, pretending disinterest.

"I'm going to assume that they are not our target," she said to AS-DC.

"They do not appear to be so," it agreed. "Their arrival was too recent, and their actions since then suggest other issues that require resolution. However, I offer caution: they have made no secret of their identity as Jedi, and if it is an agent of the Republic that we are looking for then a Jedi is the sort of person that they might gravitate to for help."

Emi cursed under her breath at that one; the droid was right. Jedi rarely went in for spying themselves, but they had no qualms about helping the spies of their allies, or using information from such spies. Someone that had worked for Republic Intelligence, or one of the intelligence agencies throughout the galaxy that supported them, would no doubt turn to a Jedi for help if they felt truly trapped in this palace.

"How much have we narrowed down the list of guests?" she asked. "And can we cross-reference that with the list of people that have spoken with the Jedi?"

"I regret that I have no such list available at this time," AS-DC admitted. "Given Atraas' effective support of the Jedi in allowing them to remain here, he no doubt considers them above reproach and has made no effort to track their movements. They have mingled at every mealtime apart from last night, when the regular meal was called off because of our arrival, and have mingled at other times as well.

"As to the list of others, I believe that I can cut it substantially based on the reaction time of the guards in instigating checks on the pheromone trace that they located: there are one hundred and fifty seven people within this palace that have not been recorded as having departed the palace and passed the wraith-droids on guard at any of the entrances since those checks were begun. Of those seventy eight can be dismissed because they have arrived since the checks were begun. A further twenty can be dismissed because they were involved in public displays at the time that the raid occurred. This leaves us with fifty nine suspects."

"Fifty nine people who can't account for their actions during that time?"

"This palace is frequented by smugglers, pirates, criminals and dealers in illegal goods," AS-DC reminded her. "Fortunately many do not remain for long, otherwise the list would be much longer. I have marked several of those still on the list as unlikely to be suspects for various reasons, ranging from strong allegiances to Atraas to cybernetic augmentation or regular use of armour plating that would inhibit stealthy work or mean that a pheromone trace was not left at all."

"Do any of them showing major connections to any group that might want to hurt Atraas?" Emi asked hopefully.

"I am afraid not," AS-DC replied. "The most obvious connection to the Republic, aside from the two Jedi, is a sales representative working for Industrial Automation, and a cartographer working for the Republic Interstellar Survey. The sales representative is a Zabrak, and has not left the palace since his arrival, spending much of his time discussing business or remaining in his quarters with a humidifier. The cartographer was engaged in numerous mapping exercises until the attacks against the Jedi. At that point she became uncertain about her future and claimed an intent to remain in the palace until she could ascertain her employment status.

"There are two individuals that I have tentatively identified from our database as agents working for-"

"Do we have anything more on this cartographer?" Emi asked, her instincts flaring. "In her position I'd have carried on working to please a potentially new employer."

AS-DC considered for a moment. "Tereez Nay'hag. She arrived here three months ago, approximately a month and a half before the first indications that someone was spying on Atraas. She booked quarters with Atraas because of a Republic Interstellar Survey deal with the Hutt to share the information with him and allow him to arrange sale of it within three hundred light years. She has spent a lot of time outside the city on survey work of the local desert, mostly preparatory for a larger team to join her. That was scheduled to occur in another month. I am afraid that I do not have much in the way of personal information."

"That name..."

"It is in the traditional Bothan form, and means-"

"She's Bothan?" Emi asked, cutting AS-DC off once again.

AS-DC paused. "Yes, she is."

"Move on then," Emi said, kicking herself for getting excited about that one. Bothans had a reputation for being master spies, and their Spynet was one of the best in the galaxy. But Emi had met quite a few, and in her experience they tended to be more politically manipulative than successful at spying. The chances of this one actually turning out to be a spy were, in her opinion, very slim indeed.

* * *

"Any idea who _she_ is?" Kyle asked, indicating a woman across the other side of the chamber.

Both Rafe and Srah looked over. Rafe shrugged. "No idea. Is that droid with her, or not?"

"It's with her," Srah assured him. "If I'm right that's Emi Kast. Not one of the really big-time bounty hunters, but damned good at tracking people down. I wouldn't have looked twice at her to be honest, but now that you've spotted her... I'd guess that she was the VIP that we missed dinner for last night."

"How do you figure that one?" Kyle asked.

"Atraas has a spy somewhere in this palace, remember?" Srah reminded him. "Emi Kast specialises in tracking down people like that and then bringing them in. The rumour I heard was that she's the descendant of a Jedi Investigator or something, and inherited the knack for tracking people, but not for using the Force."

"Just what we needed," Kyle muttered. "She was looking straight as us. Do you think that she recognised us?"

"She's probably got files on everyone here if she's looking for that spy," Srah pointed out. "I'd be surprised if she didn't know who we were already. But she'd have gotten that information from Atraas, which means that you pair would be listed as being under his protection."

"Which may, or may not, be a relief," Kyle pointed out. "The _instant_ that we're not under his protection any more we'd better vanish as totally as possible. I was already getting a bit worried about the number of bounty hunters around here. But having one with a possible Jedi heritage chasing us... That's bad," he declared.

"No kidding," Srah admitted. "So how goes our departure?"

"Paperwork's gone through," Kyle assured them, sitting back with his hands behind his head. "We're lucky that they let you do that sort of thing by remote around here, otherwise I'd have had to make a trip back to the _Long Shot_. We've just got to wait for the final clearances, and then we're off."

"Define 'off'," Srah said slowly.

"Red's already warming up the engines, and is recalculating viable hyperspace jumps away from this world every thirty minutes," Kyle replied smartly. "We can leave, with or without clearance, about ten seconds after we get on board if we want to."

"That's a bit more comforting," Srah admitted. "What about Tetee?"

"She's already over there," Kyle assured her. "But apparently the ship's water supplies are running low, which isn't helping her much at the moment. I've told Red to restock the supplies now, and then to do it again just before we leave, rather than letting some of the local shamans try doing their stuff on it."

"I'm guessing that we'll have to stop off-world to restock afterwards," Rafe said. "Wherever we go, we'd better be prepared to stop for a while at least."

"Wherever it is, we need a decent holonet link," Kyle informed him. "Not being able to use the Now is going to mean hooking up with other Jedi who can have regular visions instead."

"I don't think that we need to go _that_ far," Rafe informed him. "Even I we can't use the Now, we're still Seekers after all."

* * *

Srael was exercising when Tacha came out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard that they had claimed.

Stripped to the waist, and clad only in loose trousers below the waist, the Inquisitor was almost as powerful a figure as when he was in full armour; the armour carried a sense of power of its own, but there was something dangerous about the sheer physical power that Srael embodied that was almost more terrifying.

He was practising sparring with the clones, some of whom were in armour, and some of whom were similarly disrobed. Tacha paused for a moment, enthralled by the display of raw power, as ten clones tried to take on a single man.

Srael was, at the very least, holding his own. His style was brutal, and not tempered by any concern for the wellbeing of those he was sparring with. His speed was intense, even compared to the lethal martial training of the clones, and his strength was clearly a match for any of them as well. Even when three of them managed to grab him at once, he managed to throw them off with an almost insolent gesture, before landing a punch against another that would probably have done something unpleasant to Tacha's rib-cage.

"Inquisitor!" Tacha called out before the match could go any further. He wasn't keen on interrupting Srael's sparring like this, not least because of rumours about officers that had done so before being required to join in the next match.

Srael came to a halt, holding up a stilling hand that stopped the clones as well. "Yes lieutenant?" Srael called back up to the balcony.

"We've got a signal sir," Tacha replied, hurrying down the steps to the courtyard. "Someone claiming to know where two Jedi are hiding in the city."

Srael treated him to a sceptical look. "I trust this is going to be significant lieutenant," he said, his tone deceptively light. "All previous claimants have failed us after all."

"I'm aware of that sir," Tacha agreed. "And I might have dismissed this myself, except that it comes from a highly placed source, in one of the buildings that we haven't yet been able to search properly, and which Intelligence has listed as having a high probability of having secret ways into the city. Also, the droid in question is using some contact codes that we put out into the underworld to our more... Useful sources."

Srael nodded, seemingly more interested. Then abruptly he stopped. "A _droid_ you say?"

Tacha paused, wondering what was significant about that. "Yes sir. It claims to be major-domo at a palace owned by Atraas the Hutt."

Srael looked off into the distance for a minute, and then nodded sharply. "Best not to keep it waiting then," he declared, hurrying up the stairs.

Tacha jogged to catch up, trying not to appear too undignified in the process. "Sir? Is it significant that it's a droid?"

Srael paused outside the control room, and then cast a glance back at Tacha. "A moment ago I said that all other sources had failed us, didn't I?"

Tacha nodded slowly. "Yes sir..."

"'A voice of metal that shall guide you when all others fail'," Srael quoted. "That was the message that the Prophets of the Dark Side gave us, remember? The same message that sent us to this world in the first place."

Thinking back, Tacha nodded, remembering the strange figure that had provided such cryptic clues to the future. "Can their information really be taken that literally sir?"

"There's only one way to find out," Srael pointed out, before entering the control room.

The room was still cool enough from the night shift that there was no need for them to turn on the climate control systems yet, and many of the men on duty had been relaxing in the last few minutes before the duty shift changed over. As the Inquisitor entered, all of them very abruptly came awake again, making a visibly show of finishing off their shift properly.

Srael didn't appear to notice although Tacha had no doubt that a list of reprimands would be filed in the near future. For his own part, he noted that even a couple of the clones had been slumped a bit and had jerked to full attention at the Inquisitor's entrance.

Instead, Srael focused his attention onto a three quarters scale hologram that flickered above the holopad in the centre of the room. Tacha noted the decidedly non-Human design of the droid's features, leaning towards something canine or equine, and the other signs of ornamentation, such as the hair-like wires, and the bandolier with its array of samples of what looked like real hair. It wore a cloak that was thrown dramatically back over one shoulder, and carried a staff that it rested on the floor in an attitude that suggested it was a symbol of office rather than a physical requirement.

The droid shifted its gaze as Srael stepped into the view of the holopad. It seemed to consider him for a moment, with what Tacha guessed to be a disdainful air. "_I had expected an Inquisitor_," the droid said in a slightly mocking tone, "_not a prize fighter_."

Tacha stiffened in annoyance at that remark, but Srael held up a hand for calm. "I am an Inquisitor," he replied, his tone serious and powerful. "I am empowered by the Emperor to deal with all those who would oppose his New Order. If you find my appearance distressing for the lack of a uniform, then I apologise," he continued. "But I have found that even the best made uniform can become damaged when sparring with clones," he continued, his tone becoming dangerous.

The droid paused, and what sounded like a faint chuckle escaped it. "_Had I known that it was Temmis Srael, the Fist of Andur himself, that had come to this world on behalf of the Empire, I would have come to you sooner_."

Tacha frowned at the name, but Srael appeared unfazed by the reference. "It's nice to know that I still have some fans out there from my days in the gladiator pits," he declared. "I presume that this means that you have useful information for me."

"_You are correct_," the droid replied. "_I am KU-NMC3, major-domo of Atraas the Hutt. My Master has, unwisely, chosen to ignore the signs of our times, and has chosen to harbour three Jedi and their companions within his palace. I seek to remedy this situation, by demonstrating that the days of the Jedi are truly numbered_."

Srael chuckled to himself. "Now there's a thing," he said with a smile. "I presume as well that you have some request in exchange for this information. Beyond the bounty placed on every Jedi of course."

KU-NMC3 shook its head. "_My only concern in this is that my Master is cured of this strange affliction that would have him believe that sheltering the Jedi is in some way profitable for him. I seek no other reward than to have things return to the way that they were_."

"Noble sentiments indeed," Srael announced, bowing his head towards the droid. "Who are these Jedi, and how would you suggest that we extract them?"

"_The first arrived several years ago_," the droid explained. "_He is known as Tetri Url, an elderly Master who worked in the library of the temple on Coruscant before being forced to flee. I understand that the Emperor may have had some contact with him. I care not; it was his diseased taint that has caused my Master to bring the other two down upon us. They travel as a pair, with a number of others, at least one of whom may be able to touch the Force, but has not been trained as a Jedi_."

"A kindred spirit then," Srael muttered. "Do these others have names? And am I meant to handle all of them, or just the Jedi?"

"_They have spoken of moving as a group, but they are disparate_," the droid informed him. "_Claim the Force users and the others will present no issue to you. As to their names, the shipjacker that leads their companions is known as Srah Heid. She is the one who may be able to touch the Force. The two Jedi are known as Rafe Belwynn and Kyle Reeves_."

Abruptly, far too abruptly for comfort, Tacha felt the temperature in the room drop sharply, and the air seemed to tighten around him to almost choking intensity. Srael's expression became almost murderous as he growled the name back to the droid. "_Reeves_..."

The droid, though unaffected by the change in temperature at their end of the channel, noticed the Inquisitor's change in demeanour. "_That is the name that he has been known by_," the droid assured them. "_I have a holograph_-"

"Holographs are no use to me," Srael declared. "Where is he from?"

"_He claims a Corellian heritage_," the droid answered quickly, clearly aware that its own continued existence was in the balance. "_My Master's information suggests that this is true, though he comes from a station near Corellia rather than the system itself: the Krayt Dragon Trading Post_."

"It _is_ him," Srael growled. "There couldn't be two of them with that description." He pointed sharply at the droid. "You! My troops will be moving on your master's palace in the next thirty minutes. Be prepared to hand over the Jedi to us, or you will be lucky to have a palace left at all." With a vicious gesture he dismissed the hologram, before turning to the clone commander. "Assemble your men. Full armour, full weapons load. I want those Jedi taken alive. If Reeves dies by _any_ hands other than my own, I will have every one of your men reprocessed within the hour."

"Yes sir," the clone declared, either not worried by the threat or choosing to ignore the possibility of such failure. He came to attention, throwing a salute, before hurrying out of the door.

"Lieutenant, contact the _Stylite_, the _Adema_, and the _Locus Incendia_," Srael ordered, turning his attention to Tacha. "Tell them to make for planetary orbit immediately! I don't want these Jedi getting away!" He stalked out of the door, knocking a clone hard enough that he skittered back several steps.

As the tension drained from the air, Tacha became aware of a sound overhead; the control room's heating system had activated. A quick glance at the environmental controls gave the reason very clearly: he hadn't imagined that drop in temperature after all.

There was a layer of ice over all of the computer screens.

* * *

"How are we going to let Biree know about us leaving?" Kyle asked as the three of them headed along one of the palace's corridors.

They were, now that they had an excuse to leave and an idea of where to go and when to do it, effectively without purpose and just wandering around. Now that they weren't actually focused on major issues of some kind, Kyle found himself almost wishing that they didn't have to leave yet; there was, once you got past the odd taste in skulls and the references to death, something homely about the palace, and he wished that they at least had a chance to look around properly before they left.

"Easy enough," Srah told him. "I dropped a message in there earlier that we would be leaving."

"Won't that give the game away a bit?" Kyle said slowly. "I thought that we didn't want to draw attention to us knowing her until it was too late for someone to do something about it?"

"We do," Srah admitted. "That's why I dropped off several other messages telling likely people that we would be back this way soon and might be looking for business. The Republic Interstellar Survey is always on the look out for cheap ways of getting people and their gear around, so that won't seem out of place. The information Rafe put together about disguising her pheromone trace is in there as well, so she'll have time to get everything together there. She just needs to meet up with Rhyydonning and the others outside, and they'll give her a ride to the _Long Shot_. We all meet up there, and get ourselves out of here."

Rafe grinned at her, an infectious grin that she returned. "You always did get a kick out of organising things like this," Rafe said cheerfully. "I'm not at all surprised that you went in for this kind of life."

Srah nodded in agreement. "It wasn't really a hard decision. I mean to say, I used to run rings around the Jedi Masters at the academy in order to meet up with some of the students. Running rings around customs inspectors is _easy_ compared to that."

Kyle shook his head, wondering whether he would ever get used to Srah's attitude, or Rafe apparent liking for her. Smiling to himself, sharing their elation if not their reasons for it, Kyle wiped a hand across his brow, to clear the sweat from it, and then paused. Rafe and Srah were both looking unusually hot, even for this world, and he looked around sharply, wondering where this sudden heat had come from.

Without warning flames burst from the walls and ceiling around them. Flames that licked across the stonework as if it was coated in some kind of accelerant, and leapt into the air like wild dancers. All three of them tried to dive aside, each finding themselves cornered equally. In the confusion Kyle fell onto his back, finding himself looking up at the ceiling as a dark hole, rimmed with more intense flames, opened above them.

Fighting all the way, Kyle felt himself drawn by some terrible force into that dark hole; dark as the deepest night, cold as the vacuum of space, and burning with the terrible fires that raged around them.

In the midst of it all, in amongst the confusion and the terror, Kyle heard something that he had hoped never to hear again as the voice of the Eye, formed from the rustling and rushing of the flames, a chorus and clamouring of different tones and accents merged together into a voice that spoke into your soul, knowing you inside and out by its mere presence.

_I see you_.

Flailing, Kyle realised that he had been drawn into the Now, floundering and uncertain as he desperately tried to right himself, to find some bearing to lock onto, some way to escape this assault.

_I see them_.

A glimpse of a distant figure, almost consumed by flames, was all that Kyle could find to give himself a bearing. No matter where he looked, or how he moved, the Eye held his gaze, refusing to leave him. There was almost a sense of inevitability about it, as if by his every action he drew himself back to it, unable to avoid the stare of the abyss as its message roared and battered at him.

_They are coming for you_.

The terrible hole that stared down at him shifted slightly, and he found himself swallowed up by a vision of the Now, a glimpse of a single shard of Totality. Armoured figures assembled, drawing up ranks and preparing weapons. Armour that shone a brilliant white beneath a dulling spray of dust served as a backdrop to weapons bound with strips of rags and cloth.

_They will claim you_.

A figure, glowing through the Force, emerged from a doorway, a thin staff in his hand and brilliant armour fitting perfectly to his form. He gestured sharply, and the warriors in white spun, moving to follow him as he stalked out of the courtyard that they had assembled in and into the street.

_You will escape them_.

The words burned Kyle, searing his mind and soul as they echoed across the Now, driving themselves deeper and deeper into his being. Even if he had contemplated the idea of remaining, of hesitating, of turning himself in, he knew that he would never be able to do so; even the realisation of this left scars across his spirit-self and he reeled in an agony that went beyond that which the flames and deathly cold around him subjected him to already.

_You will find me_.

There was no sense of compulsion this time, no inlaid need to comply. There was simply the sure and certain knowledge that the voice spoke the truth, and that no matter what might happen, or what might be done to prevent it, this would come to pass.

_I... Am... Your... Destiny..._

Kyle drew back, feeling something of the pressure holding him slip. The sudden freedom startled him, even through the pain that assailed him, and he flailed for a moment, denied even the omnipresent Eye to give him some sense of direction.

Then with a rush it was over, the flames withdrawing into wherever they had been called from, and the pressure slackening so rapidly that Kyle found himself dropping to the floor of the passage heavily enough that the breath was knocked from him in an instant.

Desperately, shuddering from the pain of the burns across his skin and his mind, Kyle looked up, seeing scorched stonework surrounding a perfect circle of ceiling that glistened with a layer of ice. The scorching extended down the walls and onto the floor where it grew even more intense as it pooled around the small areas of untouched stonework that Rafe and Kyle occupied.

Rafe was as badly burnt as Kyle felt, his clothes seared and blackened in places, and his entire posture indicated that he was hurting a lot. Despite this, he managed to pull himself around to face Kyle, his expression tight.

"You saw that?"

"How could I not?" Kyle replied, wincing at the effort.

"Saw what?" Srah asked. Kyle managed to roll over and look at her. She was largely untouched by the flames, having apparently got clear in time to avoid them. However she was clearly shocked by what had happened, and was breathing hard, her back against the wall of the corridor and a hand groping for her blaster by a useless reflex.

"How could you _not_ have felt that?" Kyle managed to ask, trying to push himself upright.

"I _felt_ it," she replied, moving forwards to help the pair of them upright. "But what was it?"

"It was the Eye," Rafe said as he staggered to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. In that instant Kyle felt, just for a second, a flash of envy at the fact that Rafe's burns had already begun to show signs of healing over. This was one significant area that his own training was deficient in, though he had never had such reason to regret it before, even during their first encounter with the Eye.

"Good grief, what happened?"

The three of them looked around, Srah more quickly than the other two, at the call from down the corridor. Kyle managed to focus on the approaching figure of Biree Fla'Bek with a bit of difficulty. She appeared concerned, and it was a couple of seconds before Kyle realised that they had been trying to avoid meeting up with her.

"Minor issue with something very powerful in the Force," Rafe informed her. "Which had a warning: clones are on their way here, right now."

"Right _now_?" Srah asked, slightly shocked at the news.

"The Eye sees through the Now," Kyle pointed out. "It can't be able to perceive the future through the Force as well as the Now. They were just leaving their barracks," he added.

"In that case we have at most ten minutes before they get here," Biree noted absently. "I take it that your plans for leaving have accelerated somewhat?"

"They have," Kyle replied. "The number of troops that were heading this way... They're not going to take 'no' for an answer. If Atraas doesn't hand us over then this palace is going to be turned upside down while they search for us."

"I agree," Rafe put in, reaching out and resting a hand on the skin at the back of Kyle's neck. Almost instantly Kyle felt the pain that had been assaulting him fade slightly, and a quick glance at his hands showed signs of recovery as well. "You, I take it, are Biree, the Bothan we've agreed to get out of here."

"I am indeed," she replied, dipping her head in a small bow. "I was somewhat relieved, not to mention astonished, to receive the information about fooling the pheromone sensors, and I was regrettably unable to find any way to obtain the necessary ingredients. I was looking for you in the hope of requesting assistance on that front."

"Fine," Rafe assured her. "Srah, get the rest of your team, and tell them to get their gear sorted out. Kyle, we'd better get back to our quarters and sort out our own gear. I've got most of the stuff we'll need for you," he assured Biree, "back there anyway. Or I'll be able to improvise it at any rate. But we'd better move fast."

* * *

The main chamber was only graced with a small audience at this time of day. Mostly it was routine business that went on, with only occasional hints of more unusual activity to catch people off-guard. Atraas lazed his way through this part of the day, only occasionally putting a word in when it was necessary. Mostly, he maintained his silence, and pretended not to catch up on his sleep.

He was actually awake when KU-NMC3 stalked into the chamber with an unheard of air of air of agitation about him, and hurried up to the dais. "My Lord," the droid began, somewhat hesitantly.

Before the conversation could really get started, a hologram flickered into existence in front of the dais. Whilst it was normal for this to occur – the projectors were designed for Atraas to use for long-distance communications as well as for use as an intercom – it was decidedly unusual for them to come on unannounced.

The figure that appeared in the air was also unusual. The armour that he wore resembled that of the clones that had been fighting for the Republic, but was clearly not the same brilliant white as the clone's armour. He wore no helmet, carrying it under one arm, whilst in the other hand he held a quarterstaff that ended in a pair of vicious blades. His expression was one of grim determination, and he stared at Atraas as if confronting a minion who had committed some impropriety.

"_Atraas the Hutt_," the figure addressed them. "_I am Inquisitor Srael, of the Imperial Inquisitorius, empowered by the Emperor to act and speak on his behalf. It has come to my attention that you are harbouring a number of Jedi within your palace, and have done so for some time despite the declaration of their criminal status. If they are handed over to my forces immediately, then you will only find yourself facing charges of conspiracy and aided known criminals. Should you continue to protect them, you will, in all likelihood, face death from my forces_."

Atraas drew back sharply, not entirely certain how to take that. Part of his surprise was from the hologram's scale; the projector was set of produce a three-quarters scale hologram, and yet it was now producing a normal-sized hologram instead. That at least was explainable; manufacturers always liked to work these tricks into their equipment for special customers. The audacity of the intrusion however was a different matter.

"I do not recognise your authority," Atraas declared boldly. "Your Emperor is missing, the Republic's claim to authority has never been recognised on this world, and I do not fear your forces. My guests remain under my protection, and if that protection should be extended to a Jedi, then so be it. I will not betray such trust."

The Inquisitor's scowl deepened. "_You are making a mistake Atraas_," he warned. "_If you choose to stand in the way of the New Order, you will find yourself crushed by our might. The Republic might not have made claim to this world, but the Empire has interest in it as long as our enemies are harboured here. Your last chance: hand over the Jedi_."

"My Lord," KU-NMC3 began to say.

"Enough!" Atraas declared. "I do not fear this Empire of yours, and I do not fear your forces."

"_Then you choose for the worst_," the Inquisitor declared, turning away from them and stepping out of the view of the holoprojector. It was still functioning however, and so his next words were still audible. "_Heavy weapon specialist: get that door open_."

The holoprojector flickered and died as a series of explosions echoed down the passageways from the entrance. Instantly, blaster fire could be heard in the distance, as the screams of those unable to escape in time reached their ears.

* * *

Lieutenant Tacha led his squad in behind the majority of the clone forces. At the Inquisitor's order the vast majority of the clones on Neuook had been deployed for this single operation, representing nearly a quarter of the 207th Stormtrooper Legion that had been assigned to Srael with the _Stylite_, the _Adema_ and the _Locus Incendia_.

Heavy weapons specialists had opened the heavy armoured door that represented the main entrance to the palace, using shaped charges detonated in sequence to weaken and then demolish the door in seconds.

Commandos had gone in next, striking fast through the dust and smoke, using thermal imaging to pick out their targets and grenades to clear any possible cover.

The regular troops, hardened veterans, many of whom were survivors of the entire duration of the Clone Wars, had moved in behind them, providing greater weight of firepower once the entrance had been seized by the elite forces, and scattering what little initial resistance those inside the palace were putting up.

As the clones moved inwards, Tacha and his squad moved in. Primarily comprised of intelligence specialists like Tacha, their squad nonetheless included a number of commandos, and their skill with blasters was no less than that of the regular troops. Clad in a modified version of the white armour used by the clones, Tacha led his squad in the wake of the regulars, their fire more sporadic, but no less accurate, or deadly.

Srael had gone in with the commandos, and Tacha's uplink to the squad that he had assigned to guard the Inquisitor suggested that they were penetrating into the palace quickly and efficiently. The rear guard had also moved into place just as efficiently: two AT-RTs, assisted by an AT-PT and two squads of clones stood by the main entrance, while their second AT-PT and a pair of TX-130T fighter tanks were assisted by another two squads in locking down the loaded bay some distance away. His HUD showed that the group by the loaded bay had yet to encounter any resistance, and the technicians assigned to them were already working to seal the bay to minimise the chances of anyone trying to escape through it.

Realising how far ahead the Inquisitor was getting, Tacha pushed his squad forwards, allowing the regulars to handle the trouble along the way whilst his squad headed for the main action.

* * *

"Get back!" yelled a Gran as she hurtled around a corner. She nearly made it, before a single shot caught her in the spine, sending her flying into a crumpled heap against the wall.

Loktan stepped into cover as best he could, unholstering his blaster and gripping it two handed. He knew that unless Atraas brought up some kind of heavy weapons soon, this single gun would be the most effective weapon against the clones.

This was borne out when the first clones rounded the corner. The first of them looked around the corner, firing a burst across the corridor to provide cover for the foursome that dashed across to cover on the far side of the corner. A couple of shots came back their way, one of them even managing to score a hit against the white armour. The clone was thrown to the ground, but the armour held and he simply rolled back to his feet, firing a trio of shots, two of which struck his attacker with lethal effect.

Staying in cover, Loktan waited for the right moment. The clones were too well positioned for his own firepower to be any good at this point, but the more ineffective fire of the locals was going to convince the clones sooner or later that there was no danger present. It was in line with the teachings of Kreb for him to wait, sacrificing those around him before making his move.

Eventually the clones began to advance, making use of a gap in the fire coming back at them to gain some ground. Loktan waited, then brought up his weapon and fired in a single smooth motion.

Trobi weapons were built to scale with the Trobi themselves, and their firepower was scaled up to a similar degree. The shots that Loktan fired were more powerful even than those fired by the longer rifles that some of the clones used, and fired at a much greater rate as well.

Three clones were cut down before they even realised that he was there, and two more were dead before they made it to cover. Loktan kept his finger on the trigger, raking the cover that the clones were using, as well as the corner of the corridor, with devastating firepower. The packing crates that they were hiding behind were torn apart, scattering their contents in the process.

Loktan was edging sideways to get a better angle on the corner when something struck him in the back. It wasn't painful – his armour hadn't even been penetrated by it – but it was startling enough that he looked around to see what had attacked him.

Five clones – three regular clones, one carrying a heavy duty rifle, and the last armed with a flechette launcher – had apparently cut through the resistance at the other end of the corridor. One of the regulars had fired on him, but even before he completed his turn, the other four joined in, their synchronised firepower echoing loudly in the confined space of the corridor.

Loktan tried to bring his weapon to bear on them, but the clones were not merely aiming for his chest where he was most heavily armoured; only the flechette launcher was aimed there. Shots aimed directly at his hands robbed him of the ability to use his weapon. A shot from the heavy rifle flashed past his face, missing its target by a margin that was too bare for Loktan's comfort; his right eye was blinded by the flash, and the other, along with his left ear, was seared by the blaster bolt's corona, rendering them little more than melted flesh.

A howl of pain escaped him, and he staggered as more shots came at him from behind; the ones that he had been pinning down were now joining in the slaughter.

Trobi are more resistant to injury than Human-sized species. It takes a lot to kill them, and with weapons the size of those used by the clones such fatal damage can be a long and excruciating time coming.

The clones were willing to spend that time though.

* * *

Emi had been in her quarters when the attack had begun, checking her armour. Before the battle had really got going she had been slipping into it, and had been running a full systems check on it by the time the howl of something large and in great pain had reached her.

"Any ideas what that was?"

AS-DC continued to pack her other gear as it answered. "I would suggest that it was one of the Trobi merchants that was staying here. Trobi are a large species, and competent fighters. It would appear that a significant force is attacking this palace to injure one of them in such a manner."

"I worked that one out," she replied sharply. "Who's attacking then?"

"My tap on the palace's security feed suggests that it is a group of clones. Quite a significant group in fact," it added, pausing to stare into the distance. "They also appear to be being led by a very significant individual; he is cutting quite a lot of the resistance down single-handedly."

"Our chances of getting out of here?"

"Slim to none," AS-DC admitted, placing her bags onto an automated trolley. "They appear to have covered the main entrances, and one must suspect that they have planned for other escape routes as well." It stopped to consider. "I am currently monitoring the cartographer that we were speaking about earlier in the Jedi's quarters. From their conversation I would suggest that she is here under an assumed name."

"Brilliant," Emi said sarcastically. "The one I dismissed from our list of suspects."

"For good reason," AS-DC reminded her. "However, I might suggest a different plan of action at this point-"

"Accept the bounty on the Jedi?" she guessed. "Assuming Atraas survives he'll owe us the bounty on his spy, and we'll get the bounty on the Jedi as well."

"Indeed," AS-DC replied. "This plan has in its favour the fact that I currently have a lot of details about the Jedi and their companions which would otherwise be unavailable to the clones. Information that Atraas will no doubt try to deny them access to. This will be a useful bargaining tool."

"Okay then. Find me a group of clones, and we'll talk to them."

The corridors were in chaos. The clones hadn't penetrated this far yet, but the sound of fighting had done, and the rumours of who was attacking were causing alliances to be made and broken almost too fast for people to actually act upon them. Bodyguards had gathered around their employers, fending off anyone that might even vaguely represent a threat, and fighting between rival gangs was effectively shutting off access to some passageways.

Emi moved calmly through all of this, ignoring people for the most part, and shooting those who looked like they would cause trouble for her. Mostly people just ran past her, hoping that she wasn't going to pay them any attention.

Eventually she picked up the sound of more organised fighting; the sound of coherent orders and coordinated fire was easy to pick out even over the sound of the melee around her. Stepping closer to the corner in the passageway, she tapped the side of her helmet's eyeslit. There was a pause of a couple of seconds, before a grainy, semi-transparent image appeared on her visor's HUD; AS-DC was relaying her footage from the security cameras in the area, showing her the scene around the corner.

Twelve clones were holding the intersection. A hastily erected barricade was providing cover for them, although from the scorch-marks on their side of it and the blast marks on the other side from a pair of grenades she suspected that they hadn't originally erected it.

Not all of them were ignoring the passageway that she had come down; a pair of the clones were keeping their rifles trained on the corner, ignoring the efforts of their comrades, whilst a third whose armour appeared to have different markings from the other clones was seemingly staring into thin air. Emi recognised the stance however; AS-DC had mimicked it one time after someone commented about using it. Whoever that was, they were using a HUD inside their helmet, and potentially through it their attention could be anywhere that the clones were.

Deciding that the situation wasn't going to get any better for heading out there, Emi glanced at AS-DC, gesturing for it to keep back, and then coughed loudly and deliberately, before calling out around the corner. "Su'cuy gar verd!"

The image on her HUD showed the two clones that had been watching the corner suddenly become more alert, whilst the one that had been staring into space started paying attention. He flashed a hand-sign to the other pair, who moved up to cover the corner. Emi smiled to herself and stepped out into view, rather than waiting to be ordered to do so.

The three clones paused in a certain amount of shock at the sight of her, and her smile widened slightly. She knew that she made for an impressive figure in the armour, but it wasn't just that which had got their attention. The similarity between their armours was enough to do that.

The clone armour was based on the design of the armour used by Jango Fett, the genetic template that they had all been grown from and who had helped to train a number of them. Where his had been grey, and had been equipped with a variety of additional gadgets and weapons, the clone armour was a stark white and black, and the built-in weapons were limited to a wrist-blade.

Emi's armour was from a similar basis, right down to the shape of the visor. But where the clone armour had been tidied up, Emi's was as individual as Jango Fett's had been when she had met him, and based more on his designs; her own armour included more equipment, and a jet-pack, than the clones possessed. A dark purple colour, it was highlighted with bronze. The visor was as opaque as that of the clones' and her expression was as unreadable as theirs was as well.

"Identify yourself," the unusually armoured clone ordered her, managing to catch her off-guard. Given that all of the clones came from the same template, and had grown up in the same environment, they all had effectively the same voice. That uniformity was one of the things that had always unsettled people about the clones. This one though, had a very distinctly different accent, as if he wasn't raised from the same group, or wasn't even a clone.

Certainly his armour was an indication of this; even regular clone armour had different markings on it sometimes, to indicate different ranks or specialties, whilst this armour had a lighter feel to it that hadn't been conveyed very well through the security cameras. The helmet was also a slightly different shape, with the visor cut to a pair of eyeholes and the lower part of it having been bulked out for what looked like atmospheric filters.

"My name is Emi Kast," she announced. "Professional bounty hunter. I believe that you're looking for a pair of Jedi."

The maybe-clone ducked sharply as a flurry of blaster fire went by quite close to his head, then fired a few shots back, holding his blaster one handed. "And what if we are?" he asked, not bothering to look back at her.

"I know where they are, and I've got most of the information that Atraas has on them already," she replied. "I doubt that he'll let you have it willingly if you've had to force your way in here like this."

The figure nodded absently. "Where are they then?"

Emi turned back to AS-DC, who was keeping under cover behind the wall, but came out enough to answer. "They are gathering in their quarters and appear to be collecting their belongings. I am uncertain as to their plan of escape, but I believe that they have been working on one since their arrival."

The maybe-clone glanced at AS-DC, then tapped a control on his vambrace. "This is lieutenant Tacha. Sir, I believe that we may have a fix on the Jedi's location."

* * *

"Rees, get over here," Rafe called out, tossing a few possessions into a bag. That was all that it took for him to be packed; living frugally had some advantages when it came to rapid exits.

The Muttamok was cowering on a high shelf, shivering in fright. He glanced around nervously when Rafe called, but refused to actually move.

"Will he follow you if you leave?" Biree asked, trying to juggle the different ingredients for the concoction that Rafe had provided her with the recipe for. It was complex, and not very nice smelling at this point, but the smell seemed to change violently with each ingredient, and given that the last one was a sample of her own hair, she had hopes for it.

"Probably not," Rafe admitted, clambering up to where Rees had build his nest and pulling out some of the more valuable items from it. He wasn't entirely sure where half of them had even come from, but didn't see that there was going to be time to return any of them in the near future. "But I can never tell; Muttamoks have a way of making people like them; whatever I think that he might do could easily be wrong."

"So how will you convince him to follow you?" Biree asked, wondering why neither of the Jedi appeared concerned by the possibility of leaving the small creature behind.

Abruptly a datapad, the screen of which showed a number of titles for novels of various kinds, leapt into the air and sailed across the room into the waiting hand of Kyle. "That part at least isn't going to be hard," he assured her.

Nodding in agreement, Biree turned at the sound of more heavy blaster fire echoing down the corridors. "They appear to be getting quite close."

"They're still a good few minutes away," Rafe assured her, his eyes losing focus as he gazed past her and through the wall. "The wraith-droids and the local gangsters are starting to get a bit more organised. It's not going to work though," he added. "All they're doing is slowing things down."

"That's not wrong," Srah declared as she hurried into the room. She had a bag slung over one shoulder which she supported in place with one hand, whilst she held a heavy looking blaster pistol in the other hand. The rest of her team came in behind her, each of them carrying a single bag and some kind of weapon; the Wookiee looked especially dangerous, brandishing a metre long weapon that appeared to be projectile based rather than a blaster.

"The main entrance is out of reach, and so is the loading bay," Srah continued. "We're also fairly sure that they're going to have the other city-exits blocked."

"That still leaves us with one possible line of retreat," Gates reminded them. "The ventilation shaft towards the rear of the palace is still accessible, and should remain so for long enough for us to reach it."

"I thought that you said we wouldn't be able to climb it," Kyle pointed out.

"This was true," Gates admitted. "However, Sthynn appears to have been busy," the droid admitted, turning to the Rodian behind him.

"I believe that we can bypass the various defences around and within the shaft," Sthynn admitted. "However, it will require some assistance from yourselves, and the ascent will not be easy."

"We've got a Wookiee and some synthrope," Rafe replied. "That covers just about everything we'll need to get up there." He spoke with confidence, which Biree wished that she could share. Her own experience of climbing was limited.

"Let's get moving then," Srah ordered, turning and leading the way out of the room. There was a squawk from the shelf as Rees was abruptly pulled by an unseen force into Rafe's hands, but the little creature promptly retreated to Rafe's back, apparently considering this a good refuge.

* * *

"_Indications are that they are moving towards the rear of the palace_," Tacha relayed from his as yet undisclosed source of information. "_The plans don't show any definite way for them to leave there, but there is a ventilation shaft of some kind marked on the plans we have access to. It wouldn't be easy, but they've got a Wookiee with them and presumably they can find some rope of some kind. I suspect that is their planned escape route_."

Srael stretched out through the Force, trying to pick up any signs of the Jedi. They were there; two faint forms, accompanied by a third who glowed more brightly, or perhaps hid herself less successfully. He wasn't able to tell much more though at this range. "Divert any forces we can spare to push in that direction," he ordered. "Where does that shaft lead?"

"_Straight up to the surface_," Tacha replied. "_Sir, even if we send the fighter tanks by the shortest possible route we still might not be able to reach that exit before they escape_."

"I am aware of that," Srael growled back. "Contact the _Stylite_ and have them launch three squadrons of ARC-170s. Keep one in orbit, and the other two keep on low passes over the area. I want those Jedi in sight constantly."

"_Understood sir_," Tacha replied. "_I'm highlighting the shaft's position on your HUD_," he added, "_as well as the best route from your position. Your squad appears to be the closest to it at present_."

Srael smiled grimly, feeling that for once the Force was with him; vengeance would be his personally, without the need to bring the clones into it. "I'm on my way," he declared as the faintly glowing plan of the palace that was being projected onto his visor's HUD became brighter for a few seconds, now showing certain corridors highlighted to suggest a route.

Srael signalled for his squad to halt, and considered the map, before setting off at a renewed pace. He saw no reason to hesitate or slow down. Even the presence of a few wraith-droids meant nothing to him; his anger burnt them out of the air before they had even fired a single shot at him.

The route that had been suggested was direct, and Tacha had clearly assumed that he would be ploughing through any opposition without regard for his own safety. That was a wisdom of sorts, but it was only when he led the charge into the main audience chamber that Srael became aware that perhaps, just perhaps, the route could have done with some more thought.

Atraas was still there, surrounded by wraith-droids and his most loyal guards. KU-NMC3 stood by his master still, thought how much Atraas knew of the droid's involvement in events was uncertain. The guards were all clearly nervous, presumably having some idea of how quickly the clones had been cutting through the resistance so far; it had been barely ten minutes since the clones had blown the main door down, and most gangs would have expected to at least have held the main audience chamber against an attack for an hour or so.

On the other side of the otherwise abandoned chamber stood a single figure; he was short, of indeterminate species, and wore robes similar to those of a Jedi style, though in much richer material than the usual sort. In one three-fingered hand he held a short staff, held calmly, but with an air that suggested that this was more than a weapon. Abruptly, Srael was reminded of the third Jedi that KU-NMC3 had mentioned, and the potential complications that this individual might provoke.

The clones fanned out, their weapons ready, but holding their fire at Srael's abrupt gesture. He stepped further into the chamber, looking between Atraas and his guards, and the lone figure on the other side of the chamber, giving no hint as to which he considered the more dangerous. It wasn't entirely an act; that lone Jedi had managed to hide himself very convincingly, and even now that they were in the same room Srael was only picking up hints of the Jedi's presence.

"You dare to come into my palace like this?" Atraas boomed, speaking Basic rather than Huttese. "You have no right-"

"I have every right when you choose to harbour enemies of the Imperium," Srael replied with a snarl. He shifted the weight of the staff in his hand, settling into a more ready stance. "You then chose to try to deny me access to them. You were warned of the possible dangers, and now you must live with the consequences."

He became aware, abruptly, that despite speaking normally, despite putting no special effort into the Force to enhance the effect of his words, he was having quite a dramatic effect on these people. Even Atraas, coming from a species notorious for being hard to manipulate, was shrinking back somewhat. The Dark Side was boiling in this chamber, feeding off his anger and his desire for vengeance and empowering him in a way that he had never considered possible.

The Hutt did not back down without a fight however, and leaned forwards, his bulk causing the wraith-droids to shift forwards slightly as well. "If you should leave my palace now, you will do so unharmed, and I will not attempt to hinder you. But you will leave _now_," he added dangerously.

Srael took a step forwards himself, now actively drawing on the powerful flow of the Dark Side that rang through the chamber. He sensed rather than saw the shiver that ran through the clones, but witnessed very clearly the one that passed through the guards as the temperature in the chamber dropped sharply.

"Do not seek to test me," he warned Atraas. "My patience is not infinite, and you have stretched it far enough already. I will be taking Reeves, and any other Jedi with him, and will deal most harshly with anyone that dares to oppose me. He turned, preparatory to stalking out, and then remembered the small Jedi that stood behind him.

The diminutive figure had not moved yet, and nor had he seemed to react to the drop in temperature that had passed through the room. He watched Srael carefully, smiling faintly at the varying shows of force before him. "That way, the Jedi are," he announced, indicating the doorway that Srael had been heading for.

Srael's smiled became tight. "You will be coming as well. All Force Users are subject to the Emperor's will in this matter."

The figure shook his head. "Wrong you are," he declared. "Assured my safety is. Not bound to your will am I."

"My orders from the Emperor were that _all_ Force Users were to be detained, or killed," Srael informed him. "There were to be no exceptions."

"No!" the Jedi objected. "Assured me Palpatine did. Alone I would be left."

"That will not happen," Srael declared, a small part of him wishing that the Dark Side had not become so powerful in this chamber; it was almost impossible for him or the Jedi to even consider diplomatic words in this confrontation. "You will be coming with me."

"Wrong you are," the Jedi replied, straightening up and gazing levelly at Srael's waistline. He simply stood there, smiling slightly, until he was sure that he had Srael's full attention. Then he lifted his staff from the floor, and brought it down again, slamming the end-cap into the stone floor.

_Bang_

Srael felt the tremor that passed through the Force in that instant, felt the power flowing through the room shift and twist as the sound echoed off the walls far more than it should have done.

_Bang_

The echoes of the first had not fully died away when the second joined them, driving them into new force as the entire room seemed to tremble. The flow of the Dark Side, that Srael had been so willingly drawing on and feeding, now lashed around him, boiling as the almost comically miniature Jedi drew on it with both skill and raw power that surprised Srael.

_Bang_

Raising a hand, Srael hurled his anger into the Force, feeling the power in the air once more shift back in his favour. But there was already something else there. Faint shadows moved in the air around the Jedi, shapes of figures that shifted and rippled, their movements making harmonies within the rhythm that the staff was beating out.

_Bang_

Concerned for his own safety, and for his command of the situation, Srael lashed out, drawing heavily on the Dark Side as his rage took shape, leaping from his fingertips as arcs of lightning that speared towards the Jedi.

_Bang_

Even as the Jedi dived aside, the lightning skittering off his robes, Srael was aware of an explosion outside the chamber matching the beat that the Jedi would have been striking out. The lesser beats that the shadowy figures had been adding to the mix were carried by blasters.

_Bang_

Even without a lot of experience in dealing with such forces of the Dark Side, Srael worked out easily that he was outmatched in this situation. The shadowy figures, who he deduced to be the Shadow Walkers, were aiding the Jedi and making the odds ten to one against him, at a conservative estimate.

_Bang_

He was not alone though; the Force was still with him, even as it lashed around as both sides fought to gain the upper hand. But more than that, he was an Inquisitor of the New Order, trained by Grand Inquisitor Malorum himself and granted authority to command the forces of the Empire.

_Ba-_

"Open Fire!" Srael bellowed, hurling himself once more into the Force, drawing upon his anger and rage, tempering both with the calm professionalism that he had learnt before joining the Inquisition, and hurling lightning once more in the direction of the shadowy figures and the Jedi as behind him, responding as quickly and easily as they had when Order 66 had gone out, the clones opened fire.

The rhythm that had been building was disrupted, and the shadows flickered and shimmered, suddenly uncertain as the blaster's opened up on them. The shots couldn't do any real harm to creatures of the Force such as they, but they were a distraction that Srael made quick use of, stepping closer, ignoring the blaster fire that flashed around him and bringing his staff around sharply, scything through one of the shadows. The staff, even fully powered and with the blades on either end active, should have done no more damage than the blasters were failing to do. But the Dark Side flowed through it, bringing up fire and frost along the edges of it as it sliced through the spirit, disembowelling it in a single stroke.

* * *

"You felt _that_ one, right?" Kyle asked Srah, looking around sharply.

"I felt it," she assured him. "But I don't know what it was..."

Rafe growled in the back of his throat. "The Shadow Walkers are here. One of them just died. This Inquisitor is better than we were expecting," he added, gesturing for them to move quickly. The vent was just ahead, and Sthynn was already pulling open the cover that sealed it off from the rest of the palace.

"Up there," the Rodian said, pointing to a point several metres up the shaft. "An ion grenade against that power line will disrupt the defences up most of the vent. There is a second power line five metres up, and a third fifteen above that. A grenade to each will disable them, and remove all of the electronic defences. There are physical barriers..."

"I can handle it," Kyle assured him, accepting three grenades off Rhyydonning. "I can see why you needed a Jedi; there's no way that you'd be able to make those throws," he said, looking once more up the shaft. The angles were all wrong for a throw, with nowhere for a grenade to get lodged near the power line. Only a Jedi could levitate the grenade into place and hold it there until it went off.

He tossed the first up, getting it as close as he could before grabbing it with the Force and jamming it up against the power line. He fumbled a bit with the fuse, but remembered to look away at the last second before it went off. A wave of static washed over him out of the shaft, and there came the subtle air-tension flicker of force-fields going down. "Nice one," he commented, climbing into the shaft to get a better angle on the next one.

The shaft was wider than it was deep, so it wasn't a problem when Rhyydonning climbed in after him and began loading his rifle with a harpoon attached to a large canister of liquid synthrope. The Wookiee waited until Kyle had disabled the second power line before firing, managing to embed the harpoon in the wall of the shaft just above the second line.

"We're going up," Kyle informed the others. "Gates, no offence, but wait until we've cleared the last power line before you come in here."

"I will do so," the droid said coldly. He had already been standing well clear of the shaft when the last two had gone off in case the ion charge had carried further than it should have done.

Rhyydonning was already heading up the shaft when Kyle turned back in, with Rees on his back as the Muttamok got enough of an idea of their intent to join the advanced party. The shaft went straight up to the second power line, then sloped gently into the cliff-face, before straightening up just below the third power line. Kyle's sense of the shaft, and his sense of scale, suggested that the final ascent would be quite short once they got past that third line.

He was several metres up the shaft when there was a startled shout from below him and the sound of a Lightsabre activating.

* * *

Rafe's Lightsabre ignited just in time to catch the first of the blaster bolts that came his way, deflecting it into the ceiling rather than back at the clones that had fired on him.

Beside him the others opened fire; Srah's heavy blaster was devastatingly loud in the confined space of the corridor, whilst Gates wielded a pair of blaster rifles set to autofire. His firepower was added to by the double-blaster that folded out of one arm, and he let fly with a veritable hail of shots back down the corridor that nearly put the clones' efforts to shame.

Sthynn and Biree carried regular blasters and fired for what they were worth, but their aim wasn't good enough, and their blasters weren't powerful enough, to make a difference in the battle.

Where the clones had suddenly sprung from was a question that Rafe wasn't immediately worrying himself with, but which definitely concerned him. He had been keeping an eye out for possible trouble, but with the Eye so clearly knowing where he was he didn't want to draw further attention to himself by using the Now. Somehow this group had managed to catch up with them, despite his efforts.

For once he found himself regretting his lack of training in using a Lightsabre. He was competent with it, and could hold his own in a situation like this, but Kyle was the one that had been trained for this kind of combat. Unfortunately Kyle's skill at telekinesis was needed up the shaft as well, and so Rafe was left trying to defend those still at the bottom of the shaft.

The clones were as professional a group as any Rafe had met; they kept to cover, firing for effect as much as anything else, but firing with precision when it wasn't. Rafe could sense the same quiet determination from them that they had always carried with them during the Clone Wars, when they had gunned down battle droids with merciless intent. Now they turned that same intent upon the Jedi once again.

A flash from behind him told Rafe that the third power line had gone as well, and Kyle called back down for them all to hurry. Sthynn and Biree bundled themselves in quickly, followed by Srah and Gates. Rafe hung on a couple of seconds to let them get clear, and then hurried into the shaft after them. A second line had apparently been strung down, which Gates was ascending at a fair rate followed by Srah, while Kyle and Rhyydonning hauled on the rope that Sthynn and Biree held onto, pulling both of the non-combatants up at a greater speed.

With the clones approaching fast Rafe didn't bother with the rope, hurling himself into the air from a standing start and then jamming himself against the opposite walls at the top of his curve. Here at least he had an advantage; he had done rock-chimney climbing back on Aounam often enough that this was simple.

"Kyle! The clones will be shooting us any second now," Srah called up the shaft.

Kyle looked questioningly at her, clearly wondering what he was meant to be doing about it from above everyone else. It was only when Rhyydonning nudged him with a frag grenade that he got it.

A single shot made it up the shaft before the clones pulled back as the grenade levitated into their midst. By the time they were paying attention to the shaft again, all of the escapees were making it up the second leg of the shaft.

"Probably a stupid question," Srah said calmly, "but shouldn't we do something about this shaft? Even with only basic climbing gear they'll be up here in a couple of minutes."

"The shaft is designed to support its own weight perfectly, despite the near stresses," Sthynn informed her. "A grenade would be enough to destabilise parts of it, but the damage would quickly radiate to the rest of the shaft."

"So we drop one once we're out then," Srah declared, hauling herself rapidly up the line that Rhyydonning had strung for them.

* * *

A battle between those who can consciously draw on the Force takes place on many levels, with the physical battle being only a pale shadow that is influenced much more by the battle on other levels than might at first be apparent.

On the most obvious level each had their control of the Force, as they dredged up purely physical manifestations of its power to aid them in their battle. Such displays varied in degree, in subtlety, and in function, as each side fought to gain some advantage.

More subtly each side tried to push the Force in their direction. The Jedi state that "There is no luck, there is only the Force." Never is this more obvious than in a battle, where pulling the Force to your aid can be as effective as rigged dice or a skifter in your hand. Run a battle through with the Force on your side and a misstep may save your life; run it again with the Force against you, and it could be the end of you.

Additionally to this each side will seek to strengthen the Force to their alignment. Between Jedi and Sith this is simple enough; a Jedi will seek to use the Light Side, whilst the Sith seeks to draw on the Dark Side. Their relative strengths may determine how easily each of them is able to twist chance in their favour, how easily they can use the Force to manipulate things, or how much effect such tricks have on their opponent.

Most fundamentally perhaps was the respective ability to keep their emotions in check. Even a Sith, one that is successful and can pose a real danger, will be able to keep a rein on their anger, harnessing it and guiding it rather than letting it run amok, just as a Jedi will seek to maintain their calm centre through any trial or danger. It is through that self-control that a Force User can best achieve a state where they can affect the Force to their own ends. Without that control a Jedi risks falling to the Dark Side, and a Sith risks the treacherous realm of the Dark Side from which there is no return, when anger becomes a fuel for itself, a means to achieving itself, and little more than an end in its own right.

Watching through the Force as two Dark Siders fought showed just how thin that line was; the Force boils around both, growing darker as each seeks to draw it more potently to their aid. Only by drawing deeper on the Dark Side can the other hope to counter it, but every effort to delve deeper into that Dark place puts greater strain on their emotional control as the Dark Side fuels their rage, their anger and their lust for battle. The faint whispers that speak to a Sith and drive them at times of calm become a raucous cry for blood and pain.

Srael held his calm only by long training; he could feel the Dark Side struggling around him as he sought to maintain his grip on it. He had felt it speaking to him like this before, during his days before the Inquisition claimed him. Never though, had it sung so seductively to him, and it took a lot of concentration not to fall to its power.

The Shadow Walkers helped somewhat in that regard, surprisingly. They were a part of the Force, and could draw on it more naturally and easily than he ever could, but at the same time it shaped them more than it did him. As the Force boiled around him, disrupting his ability to call upon it cleanly and precisely, it buffeted them with an almost physical effect, shredding their spirit forms and distorting them wildly as they sought to aid Url.

Url, despite all of his crimes and actions, had not fallen to the Dark Side fully. Srael could see the small Jedi as a patch of calm amidst the turbulence that churned the air and threw layers of frost and fire across every surface. In the middle of everything else Url was drawing upon his Jedi training, maintaining his calm centre rather than allowing himself to give in to the broiling swirl of the Force around him. It wasn't honestly having much effect, and hindered Url's ability to call upon the Force to achieve things, but Srael was glad for it anyway, as it gave him one extra point of stability to anchor himself to.

The clones aided him somewhat as well, throwing their loyalty and support to him. Even serving the Dark Side in the form of the Sith, and even after having killed so many in the name of that Order, the clones were still loyal and devoted to serving. And as betrayal was the essence of the Dark Side, so selflessness was the essence of the Light Side; the clones were one more beacon that Srael clung to, even as they laid down a hail of fire against Atraas and his guards, who had opened fire in a nervous response to Srael's order to the clones.

On a purely physical level he knew that his actions must have appeared ludicrous; he danced around, weaving his way through half-seen opponents and never actually seeming to touch anything. Despite that a wave of cold washed over the room every time he sliced through one of the shadows, and the bruises and scars that he was picking up from their attacks against him were clear enough.

Eventually the balance shifted once and for all; the clones began to divert their fire – seemingly futilely but with genuine effect – against the Shadow Walkers. Even less substantial than usual, their power diminished significantly by the chaos that their battle of wills against Srael had wrought, some of them were torn asunder by the blaster fire, whilst others howled in pain and shimmered from sight.

Eventually the matter was decided by Srael, now backed fully by the power of the Dark Side, now anchored firmly by the clones and his own professional training, now embodying the greatest fear of the Jedi: a Dark Sider who will call upon the Dark Side and does not fall to its hazards. It could not last, as the Dark Side slowly eroded the will and defences of anyone, but for this moment, for this brief period of time, he blazed with the majesty of the Dark Side and did not succumb to it.

Calling upon the Force he drove it ahead of himself, shaping it as it rushed onwards, cracking stonework, blasting patches of frost, and catching Url and flinging him into the air. The Jedi was hurled against the wall, his staff shattering as the cracking of ribs crept out from beneath his robes. He yowled in pain, splayed out and unable to even shift his position to a significant degree.

Srael held up a hand for the clones to cease fire before they actually managed to hit Url, and stepped closer, maintaining his hold on the Jedi. "I am a servant of the Emperor," he intoned, his voice carrying to the entire chamber, but directed mostly at Url. "I am empowered to lead his forces, to uncover and bring to light those who oppose him, and to try and execute those who will not aid us."

He brought up his staff, holding it one-handed over his shoulder like a spear about to be thrown, as he stepped up to the wall.

"I- Will not-" Url stammered through the crushing force and the pain of his broken bones. "TAKE ME!" he howled to the sky.

Srael felt the Force shifting around him, and saw what was about to happen before it truly began. With a cry of anger he drove the blade of his staff forward, piercing the Jedi's robes and pinning them to the wall as he plunged nearly half a metre into that.

But robes were all he caught; the Jedi had already faded, not even leaving his shadow behind.

* * *

Rees leapt onto Rafe's back as Rhyydonning hauled him out of the shaft, and then slipped under his poncho. Rafe had had the foresight, purely by logical intuition rather than through the Force, to put some all-weather goggles on before reaching the top of the shaft, and so was able to look around immediately rather than, as the others were doing, trying to cover up against a minor dust-storm that had appeared.

The shaft came out in a gap between some rocks, concealed to minimise the chances of someone trying to use it to sneak into the palace. The remains of a pair of wraith-droids lay nearby, the direction of their wreckage suggesting that they had been guarding a moisture vaporator a short distance away; Rafe had no doubt the vaporator was functional, but that the real reason for leaving the droids there was to guard the shaft.

The others were all gathered nearby, their few items of baggage partially open as they sought to pull out suitable clothing. Gates had raised an arm to ward off the dust from his photoreceptor, and was probably suffering more than the rest of them. Rafe wasn't feeling very good himself though; the burns that the Eye had inflicted were still quite painful, despite the rapid healing, and the dust wasn't helping at all.

"Where now?" Srah called over the howl of the wind.

Kyle answered before Rafe could. "We just need to avoid being caught for a few more minutes," he called out. "We could do with heading for the spaceport though." He moved cautiously, his own burns slightly worse than Rafe's owing to his lesser talent for healing himself.

"That's a plan," Srah agreed, casting around for a moment before Rafe pointed sharply in the direction of where his sense of direction told him that the spaceport lay. They staggered off, trying to fight against a wind that fought to topple them all in the direction of the cliff edge that dropped into the city.

Behind them, over the sound of the wind, Rafe could just about hear the sound of something roaring. It was a long-drawn-out sound, but distant and muffled, and for a moment he wondered whether the wind had managed to catch some kind of natural channel and was echoing through it. Then the sound hit a sufficient volume for him to realise what it was, and he turned, pulling out his Lightsabre once again.

A figure emerged from the shaft that they had just come out of, rising on dual lines of fire and smoke into the dust-laden air over their heads. It was clad in armour, most of which was a deep purple, highlighted with bronze markings. The helmet was similar in design to that of the clones, but a slightly different shape, as well as a different colour. In each hand the figure held a blaster, and as it came out of the shaft it oriented quickly onto them and began to fire.

Kyle dived and rolled, coming up with his own Lightsabre out, deflecting shots into the air as the figure landed, firing more shots at them. Both Jedi moved quickly to protect the others, but whoever their attacker was, they were putting up a fantastic rate of fire. Rafe knew that on his own he would have been dead very quickly under this kind of assault.

As the others tried to return fire, their attacker leapt, the jet-pack coming to life once more even as the blasters continued to rain fire down on them through the dust. The figure continued to dance around them, never managed to actually score a hit, but dodging their own fire by even shorter margins as the roar of its jet-pack came and went. Then, as the roar of the jet-pack died, came the roar of something larger as a ship dropped down towards them all.

* * *

"_Where are the Jedi_?" Srael asked, his tone weary.

Tacha looked up the shaft, then pulled back, shaking a layer of dust off his helmet's visor. "I'm afraid that they made it up the ventilation shaft sir," Tacha replied. "My squad nearly caught them, but apparently they found some way past the defences inside the shaft faster than we anticipated. They're up on the surface right now."

"_Can you follow them_?"

"The bounty hunter that located them for us has gone up after then," Tacha admitted. "My squad are readying climbing lines, but I doubt that the Jedi will be nearby when we do get up there."

"_Understood. In that case have our forces fall back to the entrance, and make sure that we have transport to the spaceport arranged. If we can't beat them there then-_"

"Sir!" Tacha interrupted, reading quickly from a report that had come up on his HUD. "Our team out by the spaceport reports that one of the freighters, a YT-2400, has performed an unauthorised and unmanned take-off and is heading towards the top of the shaft..."

* * *

The _Long Shot_ dropped almost to ground level, throwing up a cloud of sand and dust as its engines pulled it up just short of hitting the ground. The landing ramp came down as the ship slewed sideways on its repulsors, throwing a wave of dust in the armoured figure's direction.

The blasters stopped firing as the figure bounced off some rocks, giving the pair of Jedi and the rest of the team the chance to climb aboard the transport.

"Tell me that you guys know how to handle a gun turret," Kyle said to Gates and Rhyydonning as the ramp rose up behind them.

"We can handle them," Gates asserted.

"Rhydonning, take the turret," Srah instructed before Kyle could get in. "Gates, get on sensors in the cockpit. I'll handle the second turret from there."

For a moment Kyle considered objecting to that; it was his ship and he didn't like the idea of not having some say in where people went on it. He held back though; Srah knew her team better than he did, and she knew where they would best be used.

Diving for the cockpit, Kyle heard Rafe telling Sthynn and Biree to get Tetee strapped down, and himself as well, before his fellow Seeker headed for the cockpit as well.

Red detached himself from the controls as Kyle slid into the pilot's seat and assumed control. The astromech hooted in confusion as the others piled into the cockpit, then threaded his way out to tend to the engines.

"Hang on," Kyle instructed. "I'm heading for space."

"No, keep low," Srah told him abruptly, looking intently at one of the co-pilot's screens. "This dust storm looks like it reaches for quite a distance," she said, indicating a large area on the map that was being played back from the ship's descent to the surface. "If we stay in it then we can avoid their sensors for a while at least. They'll need to cover a massive area rather than just spotting us coming up."

"They'll also be having more chance to get ready," Kyle pointed out. He levelled out their course though, diving into dust once more.

This was going to be tricky flying; the amount of static that the dust storm carried in it would short out the _Long Shot_'s shields the instant he activated them. Without even the thin layer of protection that starship shields inside an atmosphere could offer – minimal at best since they were designed to work in a vacuum – he was relying entirely on the hull to hold the driving winds and dust out. Even a brief check revealed that the winds were gusting at speeds high enough that the dust could cut body armour at this altitude, and Kyle didn't particularly want to risk damaging the hull when they would need to make a fast run for space in the near future.

Thus he flew, relying entirely on his skill, his innate knack for flying, and the Force for guidance. Every instant he had to re-evaluate their course, flowing with the winds, trying to find the path of least resistance through it all as it sought to tear him from the sky. Grinding and rasping noises shuddered through the ship at the slightest slip, and indicators flared up on various screens at his punishment of the ship.

Beside him Srah was cool and professional, keeping quiet but lending what support she could through the Force. Gates was equally silent, apparently realising what a knife-edge they were on. Rafe was a problem though.

For all that he had flown before, and knew something about flying as well, Rafe was not very good at being a passenger under difficult conditions. He maintained a death-grip on the arms of his seat, nervousness flaring off him in waves at the slightest sign of trouble. Kyle had found it distracting at the best of times, and it was only the fact that he couldn't spare any attention to tell Rafe to calm down that prevented him from doing so. Even sending him to a different part of the ship wouldn't help given the way that he was radiating it.

* * *

Tacha caught up with Srael as the Inquisitor was storming out of the palace entrance. He looked almost exhausted, and there were a surprising number of scratches across his armour. But he carried himself with the determination of one born to command armies. Someone who didn't know him as well as Tacha had come to would easily have missed the hints of exhaustion beneath the confident stride and the powerful presence.

"Lieutenant," Srael said abruptly as Tacha came up alongside him. "How is our evacuation progressing?"

"I've ordered three dropships to the surface to recover our troops," Tacha informed him, having to jog to keep up with the Inquisitor's determined stride. "The cargo lifters are also on their way down to recover the barracks building and all other equipment. We can be back on the _Stylite_ within thirty minutes, and the equipment will be there within forty."

"What about the _Adema_ and the _Locus Incendia_?" Srael asked, turning at Tacha's gesture off the road towards the city entrance and towards one of the market squares. Around them the force that had raided the palace formed up. A hundred and twenty clones, carrying a variety of weapons and with their armour in different states, formed an honour guard around the command elements. On either side of the group strode the pair of AT-RTs and the two fighter tanks, whilst at the front of the armoured mass stalked an AT-PT. Further ahead, accompanied by another twenty clones, strode the final AT-PT, clearing an unceremonious path through the crowds that were starting to wonder what all the noise was about.

"Both ships have taken up low-polar orbits, while the _Stylite_ is in geosynchronous orbit over the city," Tacha assured Srael. "They report that the dust storm near the city has covered quite a large area however, and that they cannot guarantee to spot the Jedi when they try to escape."

"I don't intend to accept any failures in this matter Lieutenant," Srael warned. He paused significantly, before continuing. "What were our casualties?"

"Eight clones dead, two more sufficiently wounded that they're being transported in the tanks," Tacha replied promptly. "Six of the dead were from a pair of aliens that were staying in the palace. Their weapons were more powerful than anything we expected to meet."

"They were Trobi arms dealers," explained a voice behind Tacha. He glanced back, seeing that the bounty hunter's droid had slipped into the group behind him. He wasn't entirely upset by that; the droid was clearly more sophisticated than it first appeared to be, and could be worth something, even without its owner. It worried him somewhat though that he hadn't picked up on the fact that it was following him. "They appeared to be here to purchase arms for sale to rebel forces which they anticipate the appearance of in the near future," the droid continued.

"I don't suppose that you were able to find out anything else about these rebels?" Srael said mildly, glancing back at the droid.

"My mistress was more immediately concerned with locating a spy inside the palace," the droid admitted. "We believe that this spy has escaped with the Jedi that you are tracking."

Srael made a non-committal noise inside his helmet, then threw a look at Tacha. "Who does this droid belong to exactly?"

"The bounty hunter that led us to the Jedi," Tacha explained. "She went after the Jedi, and hadn't returned down the shaft when we left."

"She is approaching now," the droid declared, indicating a rooftop that went back into the cliff face.

Tacha looked up in time to see the bounty hunter leap off the roof. She was still armoured fully, showing no signs of damage that you might expect from a person taking on Jedi in combat. She fell ten metres before her jetpack ignited, and landed inside the perimeter formed around the command squad, going into a crouch before rising, facing Srael and Tacha.

Srael raised a hand to stop the clones from opening fire, and considered the bounty hunter carefully. She returned the visor-obscured gaze, before raising a fist to her chest, thumping it against the armour. "Inquisitor Srael. I hope that my services thus far will not go unconsidered in your considerations of the future."

Around them the formation had come to a halt, Tacha silently passing on orders for the vanguard to hold position as well. Beside him the Inquisitor took a step forwards, apparently intrigued by this figure. "That would depend on a number of things," Srael declared. "Such as the state of the Jedi the last time you saw them."

"They got aboard their ship," the bounty hunter admitted. "It vanished off into the storm almost immediately. I didn't get as much of a look as I wanted to, but I suspect that it was piloted by a droid on the way in."

"And what were you able to learn about the ship itself?" Srael asked.

"A YT-2400 freighter," the droid supplied. "Correllian registry, with additional weapons emplacements to the standard ones. Heavily customised in places, without being too obviously customised. To the untrained eye," the droid added. "Normal crew size would be two to eight, and would not be the choice of ship for a shipjacker, who currently accompanies them."

"What about their other companions?" Srael asked, glancing between the droid and the bounty hunter.

"They appear to be the shipjacker's team rather than the Jedi's companions," she informed him. "I have the files that Atraas maintained on each of them, as well as some personal observations."

Srael seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded sharply. "Your name?"

"Emi Kast," she declared.

"Welcome to the Empire," Srael declared. "And at some point you will explain to me exactly why you appear to be in possession of a set of Mandalorian armour."

"Gladly," she replied. "I presume that your ships will be tracking the Jedi. Do you intend to catch them on the ground?"

"Hardly," Srael declared. "With the dust storm to hide them they could cover quite a large area before we found them. Our forces would be spread too thinly for us to take them on effectively, even assuming that they landed and allowed us to take them on with troops. We will make for the _Stylite_, and take them in the air. You have a ship?" he asked as they started moving again.

"The one piece of equipment that I've done without," she admitted. "My expertise lies in studying clues and following them, rather than chase scenes. Travelling business class on passenger liners has been enough for my needs until now."

Srael's expression was unreadable inside his helmet, but Tacha picked up a hint of satisfaction about that statement. "Very well. Lieutenant Tacha, I presume that you have a reason for leading us to the market."

"Yes sir," Tacha replied as the command squad, now with its new members, paused at the edge of the square. It was a large area, filled with tents and stalls that were being hastily removed by stallholders under the guidance of the clones, who were also working to clear the populace from the square as well. Tacha looked up as a trio of lights appeared on his HUD, seconds before the dropships appeared in the sky above them, descending quickly on thrusters that burned with the light of miniature suns. Even as he watched they became noticeably larger, almost looking like they were coming in too fast to land safely. The screams of some of the locals, unused to such ships, let alone ships pulling such manoeuvres, attested to the knife-edge that the pilot's flew on, and the low booming that preceded the roar of the thrusters attested to their speeds.

But it was the landing that showed the greatest skill, as the dropships touched down perfectly, having slowed dramatically in the last few hundred metres so that their landing itself was almost soundless. And a glance around the square would have impressed anyone as well; locals had scattered, merchants had abandoned their wares, but the clones that surrounded the square hadn't even flinched. A few, like Tacha, had raised an arm or turned their head aside as the wave of displaced dust and sand washed over them, or to avoid the nearly-solar glare from the engines. But nothing more. Disciplined almost to a fault, the clones had stood their ground, trusting in the skill and training of their brethren to land safely.

An impressed whistle came from the bounty hunter as the hatches on the dropships swung open and the clones began filing aboard. Tacha glanced over to find her nodding in approval at the display.

Srael glanced back at her, catching the direction of her mood as well. "Welcome to the Empire," he repeated, with a degree of satisfaction.

* * *

"We can't take much more of this," Srah warned as Kyle barely managed to pull the _Long Shot_ out of a dive that threatened to smash them against the ground. Hazard lights were flashing in various places across the diagnostics screens, and the cockpit canopy was looking less than healthy for the trip. It would hold against space Kyle was sure, but at the very least it would need smoothing out before he would be admiring any views through it.

"I know," he replied tightly. "How far have we come?"

"Nearly one hundred and thirty kilometres," Gates answered promptly. "According to the records that we made of the geography on our way down, there is a valley a short distance away. If we enter it we should be able to get below the storm and gain speed before we make for space."

"Sounds like a plan," Srah declared, tapping at a couple of controls. "Can we make it to the valley?"

"We'll make it," Kyle said, his eyes almost closed as he focused on other senses. "Not in the best of conditions though," he added warily.

The next few minutes seemed to stretch for Kyle, at one and the same time an endless infinity as the endless storm rolled and boiled around them, but also coming and going almost too quickly for Kyle to react to each new change in the air. Something in the Force seemed almost determined to slow him down, to throw him off course, and it required a constant effort now to stay focused and not allow himself to be led astray by it.

Eventually the valley appeared, as Gates had said it would. Kyle dived into it gratefully, falling below the storm and relaxing somewhat. "That was more difficult than it should have been," he declared, taking deep breaths as he forced himself to relax.

"The Dark Side is strong here," Rafe pointed out, sounding shaky. "We're up against the shadow left behind by the Shadow Walkers when they corrupted this place to their whim."

Kyle shrugged, glad at least that they were in relatively clear air. The valley was wide enough that he could fly easily for a change, and as Gates had suggested the far end of it came out beyond the edge of the storm. "Okay," he said, settling himself more comfortably in his seat. "We're about to go very fast," he warned.

* * *

The hold of the dropship was cramped, and Tacha was glad that the cockpit had enough room for himself and Srael to fit in. Even then the ride was decidedly... Military. Inertial dampeners were employed throughout the ship, but they primarily ran off high capacity storage cells rather than the ship's main power supply. The cells were charged prior to a drop, and tended to be used up almost entirely during the drop and landing. Thus, the ride was far from smooth, with all of them strapped into well padded seats with crash webbing holding them in place.

Srael took the entire thing in his stride, apparently unfazed by the shaking of their high-speed departure or the gee-forces that they were forced to handle. The bounty hunter, divested of her jetpack, sat on the far side of him, seemingly bearing it in the same calm manner.

Tacha felt annoyed at that. He had been selected, by some means that he hadn't understood, to be the Inquisitor's adjutant, and given that the position allowed him, despite his rank of lieutenant, to order around the captains of warships, he was duly proud of himself for holding it. And now he appeared to have a rival for the position; the bounty hunter had proven herself to be useful, and was being granted the kind of treatment that VIPs might receive. Tacha had considered his own future, and could easily see one where this bounty hunter posed a threat to his work.

He tried to calm himself down, but the possibilities kept building up around him. Srael had been intrigued by the bounty hunter. Was that all that it was? A moment's vague interest in the midst of a post-combat high that would fade before too long?

A flicker on his HUD drew Tacha away from such thoughts. The _Stylite_ was signalling him...

"Sir, the _Stylite_ had located the transport ship that the Jedi are on," Tacha called out. "They're adjusting their orbit to intercept it. The _Adema_ and _Locus Incendia_ are both altering course as well. The _Locus Incendia_ reports a definite target lock."

"Tell them to hold fire," Srael ordered. "I want that ship intact if possible, and whatever the _Locus Incendia_ hits them with will probably prove to be fatal. Where is the _Adema_?"

Tacha consulted his HUD more carefully and winced. "Too far away," he admitted. "They're maintaining a tight orbit, but they're too far into Neuook's gravity well to risk a hyperspace jump if the transport gets away."

A ripple of chilly air ran through the cockpit as Srael swore under his breath.

* * *

"I have three ships on sensors," Gates reported. "As well as multiple starfighters."

"What are they? And where are they?" Kyle asked, glancing up out of the cockpit canopy and not seeing anything. That was hardly surprising; orbital distances being what they were, it was hardly likely that anything short of a small moon would be visible until it was quite close, and the chances of anyone ever building something larger than the Centerpoint station were fortunately remote.

"We appear to be heading mostly away from them," Gates assured him. "They are currently outside weapons range and should remain that way for some time yet. The nearest is a _Venator_ class Star Destroyer. Their transponder indicates that they are the _Stylite_."

"Which explains where the fighters are coming from," Srah muttered. "Can we outrun them?"

"They've got more bulk than we have, so over short distances we'll beat them," Kyle assured her. "But their engines are a lot better and once they really get moving they'll be outrunning us easily. If we can make it to hyperspace though, they won't stand a chance," he added with a certain degree of satisfaction.

"The second ship is a dreadnaught," Gates continued. "Sensors indicate that it is the _Locus Incendia_, a _Devastator_ pattern variant."

"That's bad," Kyle muttered, checking his own sensors and adjusting their course slightly. "Those things are heavy weapon behemoths; we can outrun them any day, but even a glancing blow from their guns is likely to be fatal."

"I am more concerned about the third ship," Gates admitted. "It is the _Adema_, a _Pursuit_ pattern Dreadnaught."

"Sithspit," Kyle swore.

"That's bad?" Rafe asked, still tense in the seat behind Kyle.

"Very," Kyle replied. "They don't carry many weapons, but that's because they've got extra tractor beam emplacements and more powerful engines. _That one_, we cannot outrun."

"Fortunately they appear to be too far behind the planet's gravity well to pose a serious threat," Gates assured him. "However I would recommend that we jump soon if we are to lose them properly."

"I'm working on it," Kyle assured him, glancing at the gravitic-influence indicators on one of his displays. They were approaching the yellow area where a jump was merely risky rather than suicidal, but his angle out of the planet's gravity well was shallower than he would have liked; a vertical course would get them clear sooner, but would bring the capital ships and their fighters down on top of them even sooner.

"This is going to be tight," he predicted.

* * *

"Recall the starfighters," Tacha ordered, his tone mildly disgusted. The squadrons had been too slow to deploy against the transport, now identified as the _Long Shot_, and even optimistic calculations suggested that there was no chance of them catching up with it before it managed to jump to hyperspace. The only hope was that they could be brought aboard the _Stylite_ in time for the Star Destroyer to jump to hyperspace.

A few of the starfighters carried a hyperdrive, and could theoretically give pursuit themselves. But Tacha was under no illusions about the long term capabilities of such ships in hyperspace; hyperdrives on such small ships were delicate things, to be treated gently and never for extended periods. Primarily they had been designed to allow starfighters to make coordinated jumps alongside capital ships during attacks, not for pursuit.

"Do we have any idea of their heading?" Srael asked, his tone remaining dangerously level.

Tacha had already pulled that one up. "The ship is changing course randomly by minute degrees to ruin our aim," he admitted. "We'll need to wait until they go to hyperspace before we can get an idea about their destination."

"There aren't many worlds around here that they could go to," Kast offered. "And they'll probably change course shortly after they enter hyperspace anyway."

"We shall see," Srael declared. "Lieutenant, have captain Moven signal Bosthirda on my authority, requesting any additional information that they might have. Also have them indicate that I will provide an account of the accuracy of their information to date when I am able to do so, in order to aid them."

Tacha nodded and relayed the orders. He didn't fancy the idea of hearing from the apparent Prophets of the Dark Side again, especially given the uneasy feeling that he had ended up with after the last time he had spoken to one them.

As the message was relayed though, the reply was cut short by a new status report.

"Sir," the pilot called out, beating Tacha to it by half a second, "the transport just went to hyperspace."

Srael's growl of annoyance was still forming when something devastatingly bright blasted past the dropship, the force of its passage rocking the ship and bringing up hazard warnings across a variety of displays.

"Osi'kyr!" Kast swore. No one else made an exclamation, even of surprise. For that at least, Tacha was glad; he himself had flinched in surprise, and been thrown around, but had not cried out, especially in some unknown language. "Are we under attack?"

"Udesii verd," Srael said, catching Tacha off-guard with his response. "I don't think that we were..."

"No sir," Tacha assured him as his HUD lit up with the appropriate information. "Captain Fyyar apparently managed to get the _Adema_ above the planet's gravity well. The shockwave was them going past us as they went to lightspeed, at a range of seventy five metres."

Srael chuckled darkly. "I suppose that we should be glad for captain Fyyar's accuracy in jumping," he declared. "Order them to continue pursuit and capture the Jedi if possible. I want that ship intact, or followed, not destroyed."

"Aye sir," Tacha replied. "Captain Bel-Appan requests to join the pursuit," he added as the message came up on his HUD.

"Denied," Srael replied curtly. "Relay orders to the _Stylite_ and the _Locus Incendia_ to return to orbit over the capital city. I will need both of them shortly."

* * *

_8 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Hyperspace, off the beacon network_

"Well, we're out of there for now," Srah said, relaxing back into the co-pilot's seat as the flicker of hyperspace flashed around them. "And good riddance to it," she added.

"Do not be so certain," Gates warned her. "A ship just went to hyperspace behind us. From its profile, I suggest that it is one of the Dreadnaughts, and from its speed, I judge that it is the _Adema_."

"Sithspit. We're still in trouble," Kyle declared. "Are they gaining?"

"Their speed appears comparable to our own," Gates assured him. "They are not within weapons range, and I do not anticipate that they will be in the near future."

"Unless we come out of hyperspace, in which case they'll be right on top of us," Rafe pointed out.

"Ditto if we change course," Kyle pointed out. "They'll just need to change course to match us and they can take a short-cut."

"So where are we heading at the moment?" Srah asked.

"Just out of the solar system on the first clear heading that I could find," Kyle admitted. "We shouldn't run into anything for at least a few hours."

"Star charts around here aren't too complete," Srah pointed out, looking at a chart that had lots of grey areas that indicated a lack of proper mapping. "We could end up hitting anything if we're not careful."

"The only consolation to that being that the _Adema_ will be caught off-guard just as badly," Gates reminded them.

"Not much of one though," Kyle said, thinking quickly. "Rafe? It's probably going to be dicey, but we need to scout ahead."

Rafe treated him to a slow look. "You mean using the Now."

"Look, the Eye knew that we were on Neuook, and was paying enough attention to warn us that the clones were going to be attacking us."

"I still do not understand that," Gates interjected. "I understood that the Eye was trying to kill you."

"So did we," Kyle replied. "The point though, is that it knew where were, and didn't attack. We need to risk it again."

Rafe sighed, trying to relax himself. "I'll try it," he said eventually. "It probably can't make things worse..."

* * *

_The Now_

Even amidst the panic and the potential for danger, Rafe howled for joy at the exhilaration of entering the Now once again.

As Totality spun beneath him, he skimmed lightly over it, bathing in the radiance of a million stars and swimming through the deep places of the universe. In a single instant he witnessed uncountable deeds and acts and touched the secret places of billions of lives. After the tension of the last few hours, it was like returning to a welcoming home; a safe place where he could relax and feel safe.

It took him a few minutes to bring himself back to the current situation; the sight of clones marching across various cities, as well as a pair of Jedi being cut down by blaster fire, was enough to remind him of more urgent issues.

Orienting himself on the small corner of the galaxy that they had found themselves in, he focused his gaze inwards, speeding closer and closer until he was watching the _Long Shot_ flash through hyperspace. He could see himself, sitting in the cockpit, with the others watching him carefully. A quick glance back along their course was enough to show him the _Adema_ blasting along behind them.

Turning his gaze forwards, he scouted ahead, looking for something that might provide an advantage of some kind to them, or might present an obstacle.

Kyle's guess about their course had been right; it didn't hit anything serious for nearly five hundred light years. There were a couple of minor points – random hydrogen clouds, a few pieces of rock, a single ship in the distance – but nothing immediately obvious to either aid or hinder them.

Widening his gaze, Rafe took in more of the surroundings, hoping to find _something_ useful at least. There wasn't much...

The problem with the Now is that you see _everything_. Focusing on a small section just means seeing a smaller part of everything, and necessarily make it easier to actually understand what is happening in an area.

Shaking his head slowly, Rafe returned to the _Long Shot_'s cockpit, forming his spirit-self alongside the pilot's seat and resting a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Kyle? I might have found something."

Kyle jerked in surprise at the sudden intrusion, then nodded. "What have you got?"

Srah and Gates both looked around, obviously wondering who Kyle was talking to. Rafe smiled at that, but carried on regardless. "A rogue comet," he announced. "About ten minutes ahead I'd guess. Hit it just right and we could lose the Dreadnaught at the very least."

"I'd prefer to use it as a place to hide, and then jump again," Kyle informed him. "If we can hide our exit vector this time then they won't be able to follow us so easily. A few seconds worth of delay could buy us that."

Rafe nodded and allowed himself to flow back out of the Now.

* * *

_The Stylite, geosynchronous orbit over Neuook_

"_Set alert status red three. Repeat, alert status red three_."

Emi listened to the announcement with a certain degree of trepidation as she followed Srael and lieutenant Tacha onto the command deck of the _Stylite_. She wasn't entirely uptodate with military protocol in these matters, but red three sounded dangerously aggressive to her.

"Inquisitor." A tall human with blond hair and pale green eyes, wearing the same style of uniform as the other crew members on the deck, came to alert as Srael approached. He looked career military to Emi; a well kept figure who fitted the uniform nicely, and had the lines of a serious expression welded permanently into his face from overuse. "The _Stylite_ is at high alert. All weapons are charged and ready. We await only a target."

"Excellent captain," Srael said. "We have a target already however; you simply don't recognise it as such yet. Captain, I want a Case Seven weapons load prepared. Have the order relayed to the _Locus Incendia_ as well."

A number of people within hearing range of that order hesitated, and the captain looked visibly shaken at the idea. "Sir? Case Seven?" His voice was a bit shaky now, even uncertain. A quick glance showed that even lieutenant Tacha was unsure of this order.

Srael turned to the captain slowly, his expression dangerous. "Are you questioning that order captain?"

"No sir," the captain responded hastily. "But Case Seven requires high level authorisation to be enacted. I will require official record of your orders before I can proceed," he explained.

Srael nodded curtly. "Then make such records available for me to sign," he ordered.

Emi slipped back a couple of steps rather than moving forwards to try and ask someone what Case Seven was. She suspected that no one would be very happy to have to voice the exact details about this mysterious machination.

She considered idly what it might be as she waited. Srael had called it a 'weapons load', which meant that it was something that was either attached to their existing weapons or in addition to the regular ones. But with the Jedi out of the way, what possible use could he have for weapons? Surely there was no one left to shoot at?

The order was signed off by Srael with the air of one getting minor details out of the way, and passed on to the weapons officers with somewhat greater reluctance. There was a hint of contention from the _Locus Incendia_ when the order was relayed to them as well, but it was quickly quashed.

Srael had moved to stand at the forward viewport of the command deck, and as Tacha headed over to him with the weapons readiness report, Emi tagged along, hoping to understand this strange situation better.

"Sir," Tacha said hesitantly, holding the datapad in his hand as if it was coated in something distasteful. "The confirmation of Case Seven weapons readiness from both the _Stylite_ and the _Locus Incendia_..."

Srael accepted the datapad and glanced over it. He nodded and signed the final line on the report. "You disapprove lieutenant," he said, making it a statement rather than an accusation.

"Sir... Case Seven was never seriously intended for use... Certainly not against a populated world..."

"I know that," Srael admitted. "I know that I may risk serious trouble with the Senate when they find out that I use it. But as I told you before, my duty here is clear."

"May I ask," Emi said, trying to intrude as politely as possible, "what exactly _is_ Case Seven?"

Srael glanced back at her. Whilst she had not removed her armour, he had done so, and his faint smile as he looked at her was not entirely pleasant. "Ah yes. You don't know, do you?" He glanced along the length of the command deck. "Captain Moven. Open fire."

Emi frowned, wondering what they were meant to be firing at. Then the deck began to reverberate with the tremors of high powered turbolaser fire, and missile launches. She looked out of the viewport sharply, her armour's sensors picking out the weapons that the _Stylite_ was launching, along with the more obvious ones that the _Locus Incendia_ had let loose with. They were orbiting side-on to the planet at this point, and Emi watched in horror as the shots blazed down towards the surface.

"Back in the city we found reference to a group of Force Users that had tapped this world and its people as a source of power," Srael explained softly. "And I will tell you what I told lieutenant Tacha then: I am charged with protecting the Empire from enemies that others cannot face directly. I am charged with that duty regardless of personal peril or risk, and with the authority to carry it out by any means necessary. Then, as now, my duty is clear: the Shadow Walkers must be stopped, and if the destruction of a world that feeds them is the price, then the fact that this world produces an unhealthy number of unregistered Force Users is only a minor side issue that nonetheless adds to my determination. This world must die, if my duty is to be done.

"It's fortunate that we have the _Locus Incendia_ with us," he added thoughtfully, almost as an aside, as the turbolaser fire and missiles continued to streak towards the surface. "The _Stylite_'s weapons load for Case Seven is woefully inadequate, and we would have been here for days to complete this task. As it is a Devastator pattern Dreadnaught carries enough fusion warheads to finish it in minutes," he concluded as the first missiles landed in the capital city and blossoms of fire each a hundred kilometres wide began to open upon the surface.


	17. Chapter 10

**Those not to trust**

_8 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Deep space, off the beacon network, near Neuook_

Along in the darkness, far enough from the nearest star that it could not even glisten more than fitfully to show where it was, a lone comet hurtled on its way, unregarded, unnoticed, and uncharted. In a few decades, should its course not alter in the mean time, it would pass across the line marking the hyperspace route between two worlds and could present a hazard to those caught unawares. But for centuries now it has flown, unseen-

A flicker of pseudomotion was the only warning before a small ship, dwarfed even by the comet, which was small by the standards of comets, flashed into sight nearby. It was a peculiar shape; most of the body was a disc, with engines sticking out of the back, whilst a nacelle attached to the side terminated in the half-canopy of a cockpit.

The _Long Shot_ decelerated rapidly, spinning around so that its engines burned a pillar of light across the darkness as it angled towards the comet. Even as it appeared though, a second flicker of pseudomotion announced the arrival of a second ship, still dwarfed by the comet, yet thirty times the length of the transport.

The _Adema_ angled more slowly, the sudden drop out of hyperspace, not to mention the presence of the comet nearly dead ahead of them, had caught them off-guard, and even in something as impersonal and faceless as a starship there was a definite edge of concern to be seen.

* * *

_Command Deck of the Adema_

Captain Fyyar cursed silently at the sight of the comet that was sticking out across the starry darkness, its shape defined only by the reflected exhaust light from the _Adema_ and the _Long Shot_, although more by the hole that it cut in the morass of the galactic core.

Srael had told them that they were chasing Jedi, but Fyyar had worked with Jedi before now. How had they managed to pinpoint that comet so accurately? A fraction of a millisecond later and the _Adema_ would have been pulled out of hyperspace by the comet's gravity and would have run straight into it before they had even realised what was happening.

As it was the projected trajectory on the navigator's screen was passing too close to the outer debris that hung around the comet for Fyyar's tastes. Most of it would be held off by the hull plating easily enough, but some of those pieces would tax even the shields and armour combined.

"Turbolaser control, stand by to fire," Fyyar ordered. "Signal all decks, collision alert."

Sirens blared as his orders were carried out. Most of the crew on the _Adema_'s command deck were seated, and hugged their seats a bit tighter, or in a few cases employed the crash restraints that their station allowed. Fyyar considered heading for his own seat, arranged at the centre of the deck with a good view of the entire situation. Unfortunately the entire situation didn't look too good as it was, and at least standing here he would get a warning before they actually hit something.

"Sir, we have a missile lock on the transport," one of the weapons officers offered.

"Stand by to fire," commander Handon ordered, before Fyyar jumped in and interrupted.

"Belay that. The Inquisitor wants this ship intact. I've never seen a glancing blow that could prove fatal to something that size if it went wrong."

"Sir," Handon said slowly, stepping closer so that he didn't have to raise his voice over the alarms, "the transport's course will take them behind the comet. If we lose sight of them, we may not be able to pursue when they go to hyperspace."

"I'll risk that," Fyyar replied sharply. "I'd sooner have to spend weeks tracking them down again because we lost track of them than admit to the Inquisitor that we blew up his prize."

"Sir, we're about to reach closest approach," warned the navigator. "We're not going to make it," he added, indicating his console where a part of their projected course had been highlighted in red where it passed through several pieces of rock.

"Weapons officer, take your targets from navigation. Clear us a path," Fyyar ordered. He glanced at a secondary monitor, watching as the _Long Shot_ dived around the comet, angling for a gap between some of the debris where they would be able to get behind the comet and make another jump to hyperspace. Once there it would be anyone's guess where they would end up.

Just short of the gap however the ship suddenly veered almost drunkenly, side-swiping a chunk of ice and reeling away from the gap. It wove around for several more seconds before being brought under control, but the gap was no longer accessible and it was forced to continue to dodge somewhat haphazardly around, being driven steadily closer to the _Adema_.

"I wonder what happened there," Fyyar murmured, his voice drowned out by the deep thumping of the turbolasers as they began to clear a path through the debris.

* * *

_The Long Shot_

"We're practically on top of it," Rafe whispered behind Kyle, and Kyle nodded slowly in response, despite the fact that Rafe probably had his eyes closed and so wouldn't see. He was relying on Rafe for the general guidance, but his own skill with piloting and the Force had allowed him to pull this kind of stunt before easily enough.

Allowing himself to fall into the Force, Kyle felt the shifts in the Force around him. All things were connected through the Force; even empty space was intertwined with every solid object in existence. But it was possible to see the density of these links, if you knew what you were looking for. It only really worked in empty space, where large clumps stood out against the general background, but Kyle had long ago got the hang of how to do this with sufficient precision to drop a ship out-

Without conscious thought, his actions guided only by the Force, Kyle flicked the switch and brought them out of hyperspace.

The deceleration took only a couple of seconds, but that was easily long enough for the comet to become visible and rush towards them with worrying speed. Kyle knew that he hadn't hit the gravity well and that there should be plenty of time to turn... But more than once before he had felt the Dark Side slip in to guide his actions before, and it had nearly got him – or other people – killed. This time, despite the apparent closeness of the comet, he banked sharply and the collision alert siren shut down.

"Nice timing," Srah complimented him as he brought the engines up to full power once more, fighting the inertia of their exit from hyperspace to angle them on a close pass around the comet. Once around the other side they would be able to escape without the _Adema_ being able to track their course.

"Here they are," Gates called out as the _Adema_ appeared behind them. For a second the collision alert went off again at the sudden appearance of a six hundred metre warship at high speed right behind them. Kyle was already angling them away though, and the _Adema_ had over a thousand times the mass and inertia to overcome in order to escape the comet.

Kyle had deliberately picked a harder course to follow, one that would take them closer to the comet, but also one that would be impossible for the _Adema_ to follow. The scale of space was playing to his advantage here; despite flying at breakneck speeds with the engines going at full speed, the comet seemed to creep towards them, giving him plenty of time to consider their next move.

"The gap over there," Srah suggested, picking up his train of thought. She indicated an area where various rocks and lumps of ice were tumbling around each other, and it took Kyle a moment to realise what she was talking about; she wasn't referring to an existing gap, but had extrapolated the paths of the lumps and spotted where a gap would be.

Annoyed that she had got that before him, as well as that she had caught his thoughts so easily, Kyle began to angle the _Long Shot_ towards the oncoming gap. At their current speeds, even with an etheric rudder and inertial dampeners and compensators running, the ship's inertia transformed any turn into a gentle curve and Kyle didn't want to overshoot.

"The _Adema_ is turning away from us," Gates informed them calmly.

"Just like we wanted," Kyle assured him, glancing back to throw a devilish grin at Rafe and Gates.

Gates met the grin stoically, unable and unwilling to show any emotion. Rafe managed a nervous smile and relaxed somewhat, though maintained a firm grip on the armrests.

Kyle returned his attention to their course, making a minor correction to their course and speed, bringing them down to a less inertia-governed velocity, smiling as they approached the gap-

_Fire bloomed around them, throwing a howling wind ahead of it as it rolled towards them._

Kyle was only peripherally aware that alarms were sounding around him. His hands were over his ears, trying to block out the terrible sounds that assailed him from all sides, and a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach suggested to a coherent part of his mind that the ship was spinning out of control.

_Buildings were torn to shreds over head, the shelter that they should have provided no longer any use at all as the fire claimed them._

A strangled cry was only just audible, as someone called something about the controls.

_A shaman performing the daily rites to preserve the water is boiled to vapour along with the water as the wave of fire hit him._

Metal arms pushed Kyle aside, barely registering on his consciousness as something of the stomach-wrenching spin evened itself out.

_Splinters of fire struck down, howling through the air, tearing it apart before exploding as they hit the ground, tossing people and rubble aside._

A low moan, half obscured by a sob, came from somewhere nearby. Kyle was lost in a morass of pain and death, but it felt like the sob came from somewhere behind him.

_A family watching from a hillside, the children screaming in pain and terror at being blinded by the flash of the explosion, their parents unable to see them through their own blindness, are reduced to cinders in an instant as the fiery shockwave washes over them._

Darkness came mercifully.

* * *

Sthynn had been onboard enough ships to realise when something was going wrong. The jump out of hyperspace had not been unexpected – he had been expecting at least one sharp jump out of hyperspace and back into it as they tried to evade any pursuit – but the sudden turns and sickening twists felt decidedly wrong.

Ignoring the Wookiee's calls for him to return to his seat, Sthynn clambered towards the doorway, hanging on to the doorframe to swing himself round to the left towards the cockpit. The ship's course had stabilised enough that the dash to the cockpit was easier, although what he found there was not easy to understand.

Both of the Jedi and captain Heid were clearly in distress, although there was no obvious sign of what might have afflicted them. The droid, Gates, was leaning over Jedi Reeves to use the controls. He glanced back as Sthynn arrived, and then nodded curtly towards one of the consoles.

"Check the sensors," the droid ordered. "Something must have happened to the Force to affect all of them like this."

For an instant Sthynn wondered about captain Heid being affected by something that only Jedi should have been able to sense, before he slipped into the seat that, from the marks in the seat and the chilly feeling of it he guessed that Gates had just vacated.

"Uh... We appear to be heading towards a ship," he said, scanning the information quickly. "The sensors indicate that it is the _Adema_."

"I am aware of that," Gates informed him. "Are they attacking us?"

Sthynn looked closer at the display. He was usually good with computers, but this was a rather specialised application of a generalised statement and he fumbled for a few seconds before getting enough of an answer.

"They appear to be firing... I think," he offered, reading the display carefully, "that they are firing on the comet."

"Most likely they are trying to clear a path for themselves through the debris," Gates announced. "How far are we from the comet?"

"About three hundred kilometres," Sthynn answered, glancing up out of the canopy as the lighting shifted. Overhead the comet and stars seemed to wheel around as Gates shifted their course. "Three hundred and twenty," he corrected himself. "Where are we going?"

"That is an excellent question," Gates replied. "To start with I plan to move us out of sight of the _Adema_ so that we can jump to hyperspace without being seen. Most ships would not be able to follow us, but a _Pursuit_ class Dreadnaught will have sensors to at least guess at our course to a sufficient degree to follow us closely."

The _Long Shot_ dived back in towards the comet, as Gates took them on a more conservative course than Kyle had planned, avoiding the debris for long enough that they were able to get behind the bulk of it and out of sight of the _Adema_. Swooping upwards once more, Gates allowed a few seconds after the gravitic-influence indicators went below the red line, and then launched them into hyperspace.

* * *

_The Stylite, orbiting Neuook_

The formerly cloudless sky of Neuook was now transformed.

Where before there had been a desert world, its water supply so limited that clouds could not even form except in the coldest regions of the polar winters, there was now a nearly complete coverage of clouds of dust and ash. Eruptive columns from some of the planet's few nearly-active volcanoes that the fusion warheads had managed to breach were now adding to the mess that made up the atmosphere.

The _Stylite_ and the _Locus Incendia_ had deployed terawatts of power and over a hundred MRN-17 fusion warheads into the planet, systematically erasing all life from the world as they went. The entire operation, from start to finish, had taken less time than either ship needed to complete a full orbit.

Srael had kept watch throughout the entire operation, his senses alert for the return of the Shadow Walkers. He meditated as best he could whilst standing on the command deck, allowing strength to flow back into his body, healing the injuries from the fight on the surface. He was somewhat doubtful about his chances if the Shadow Walkers came in real numbers to challenge him; legends suggested that there were dozens, even hundreds of them, and he had only prevailed against a handful by desperation and a fortuitous trick of the Force.

Around him he could sense concern about their actions, worry about whether this was the right thing to do... A hundred concerns from people that could never understand the knife-edge that the Empire would be walking until unsanctioned Force Users could be eradicated once and for all. Srael almost pitied them for their lack of understanding, whilst another part of him wanted to blast each and every one of them to a billion pieces, envying their innocence with a passion that burned like embers, dull for a time and reigniting when fed such as at times like this.

He sensed lieutenant Tacha's approach before his adjutant had even started across the command deck, and was turning to face him before he even arrived. "Yes lieutenant?"

"Prophet Havaan is signalling from Bosthirda in response to your request for contact," Tacha informed him tightly.

Srael smiled encouragingly. "You don't like the good Prophet, do you?"

"There is something... Disturbing... About his presence," Tacha admitted.

"Of course there is," Srael replied, not entirely unkindly. "Those who immerse themselves that fully in the past and future do tend to not entirely be in the present. Is he available now?"

Tacha gestured towards the command deck's primary holopad, which lit up at their approach. The familiar, if unwelcome, figure of Prophet Havaan flickered into existence above the holopad, drawing a few confused glances from crew members around the deck.

"Prophet. You made good time getting back to Bosthirda," Srael commented.

"_Our business on Coruscant was concluded quickly_," Havaan replied, his emotionless mechanical voice sending a shiver up Tacha's spine. "_Our master required advise about his apprentice. We warned him to follow Darth Vader. And to take medical equipment with him. There was no further business_."

"Do you have further business with me? I should inform you that you have proven remarkably successful in some ways, and very lax in others."

"_In what way have we been lax_?" Havaan asked, the robes covering his head shifting slightly as if he was looking around.

"You informed me that there would be a number of people that I would meet. Two whose fate was entwined with that of the Eye. One who travels with them and who will see me before I see her. I know who they are. The two are Jedi, and the third is a shipjacker. But when you warned me that I _may_ know one of them..." His voice trailed off as the anger started to leak back into him. "How could you miss something as obvious as _that_? How could it not be obvious to those who can see the past that I would want him dead?"

Havaan hesitated for a moment, though Srael wasn't certain whether it was a dramatic pause or concern. "_You are a Shatterpoint_," he said, somewhat accusingly. "_That we see the future around you at all is a miracle of sorts_."

Srael had heard that excuse before. And as before, he had to admit that it was also a truth that he would have to bear. "I have found other prophecies to be true," he continued, his voice under control once more. "Although several remain unclear. The voice of metal that you mentioned was a droid acting as the major-domo for a crime lord harbouring the Jedi. He betrayed them to us. The next place that you saw me in a vision was a world called Neuook. Did your visions predict its death by any chance?"

Havaan definitely started at that one, looking at Srael sharply, and invisibly, from beneath the robes. "_A world has died_?"

"Approximately twenty thousand turbolaser shots and a hundred and sixteen fusion warheads tend to do that," Srael replied carefully. "The Shadow Walkers were using this world as a power supply to sustain themselves, and I felt it necessary to remove the possibility of them presenting a threat to the Empire. Were you not aware of their presence?" he added guilelessly.

"_Their presence is spread thinly_," Havaan declared evasively. "_They have not presented trouble for several years now. We had hoped that this time they would have been gone for good._"

"Well they should be a bit more concentrated now," Srael replied. "Do you have any updates for me? As I recall that is why I contacted you."

Havaan now seemed a bit more upbeat as they got back onto his natural territory. It amused Srael somewhat that although the Prophets could deal quite easily with the metaphysical twists of their own prophecies, when faced with the possibility of those being actualised in some way, they were cut adrift.

"_We know that one of your ships has chased the Jedi_," Havaan informed him. "_We know that they will not catch them. Where they will go is unclear with the presence of the two shadows on board, although we sense that the Eye is upon them already_."

"Will it catch them?" Srael asked sharply, almost daring the Prophet to tell him that he would be denied the satisfaction of killing Reeves himself.

"_The future of them, of the Eye, and of yourself is too clouded_," Havaan replied noncommittally. "_We still perceive a time when a snake will guard them against you. However we perceive something new in their future: a council of those that do not trust each other. Enemies of philosophy will meet with them and acts will be taken that will shape a future that is beyond our perception. Their future leads to another place however. We have looked at this place, and we_..." Havaan trailed off, his mechanical voice taking on a worried, even pleading tone. "_Do not go there Inquisitor. We have seen them. We will not say their names. We will not look back to that place for the Force shines there too brightly. If you go, you will be lost forever. Along that future we do not even perceive a memory of you, or of ourselves, as if your actions had removed the Empire from existence so completely as to not even leave a ripple in history to mark its passing_."

Srael looked at the holographic Prophet carefully. Havaan was notoriously cautious, logical, and unflappable. Such a warning, delivered in such a manner, was decidedly out of character for him. "I will bear that in mind," he said slowly. Was there anything else?"

Havaan composed himself visibly. "_We know that others have joined them; there are now nine that you must follow. One will leave them soon. She will turn easily, if prompted. Another will leave them after you find the staff of gears. Then they will be eight_."

Srael cocked an eyebrow. "You've gone mystic again Havaan," he warned the Prophet. "Taking two from nine normally leaves seven, not eight."

"_We are certain that you will enjoy finding out how this is true_," Havaan replied, his voice once more coldly mechanical, with perhaps a _hint_ of satisfaction in it. "_We have only one further warning for you Inquisitor: we have seen this conversation happening. We cannot see you, and have never seen you. But there are many futures that follow from this conversation where no one sees you_." Without another word the hologram flickered from existence.

Srael could feel the question forming on Tacha's lips, but ignored it. Havaan had been alarmingly precise about the time period for that final prediction, and he cast his senses wide, searching for the danger that he guessed would be bearing down on him, or the ship, already.

He spotted it easily, but captain Moven responded to it before he was able to devise an appropriate response.

"Return to your seat ensign," Moven ordered, directing his attention to a young man stepping out of the port crew pit. The ensign didn't appear to notice the order, staring intently at Srael. Srael noticed idly that his movements were not entirely natural, as if directed by someone unused to using a body like this. Despite his movements being awkward and his pace becoming steadily erratic, he remained upright, as if held there like a puppet.

"You-" The ensign's voice was as mangled as his movements, but it was still understandable. Not least, Srael sensed, that was because the vocal chords were only being used to assist the transmission of meaning, rather to facilitate it directly; something was speaking through the Force, but it still needed a real voice to speak through. "You have..."

Srael held up a hand to warn Moven off before the captain tried to have the ensign arrested. He was intrigued by this occurrence; he knew that it was possible for a suitably powerful Force User to take control of someone's physical actions in this manner, but he had always believed that it was a case of directing their actions rather than physically wearing them as this appeared to be.

"You have tried... To kill us..." The voice was now almost apparent in its own right, without the need to use vocal chords at all. There was also a hint of some dark echo of the ensign's form in the air, as if something was clinging to him but couldn't quite keep up with his movements. "You have... Tried..."

"I've succeeded by the looks of things," Srael replied, keeping his stance loose. Clearly the Shadow Walkers were not entirely dead yet, despite such a massive loss of power. His strength was not yet back to a reasonable level though, and he didn't want a prolonged conflict in such a delicate area of the ship if he could help it.

"We are not... Dead yet..." warned the Shadow Walkers. The darkness around their puppet began to fill out, and Srael sensed more and more of them flowing into the command deck, lending their strength to the effort. Others around the command deck began to back away, some abandoning their stations outright as the power growing in their midst began to make its presence more visible as a chill wind passed over the deck.

Srael took a step back, spreading his arms wide as he did, preparing himself to withstand whatever attacks the Shadow Walkers might choose to throw at him through the Force.

He was caught somewhat off guard therefore, when their puppet held out a hand and the blaster from one of the clones seemed to leap into the air, sailing over until it was caught in a somewhat haphazard grip.

Srael had barely had a chance to register this act before the blaster was pointed in his direction, spitting shards of white-hot light at him even before it was aimed properly.

He dived aside rather than face the attack; in his full armour he would have been able to withstand such an attack easily. But he had removed vital parts of his armour to allow for freer movement, assuming that the Shadow Walkers would launch a less direct attack than this. He rolled, coming to his feet and drawing the Force around him before hurling the collected energies at the Shadow Walkers and their puppet.

The Shadow Walkers didn't even bother to dodge the attack; their half-visible forms seemed to coalesce, deepening the darkness around their puppet as the attack washed over them to no effect. The entire time the blaster continued to fire, its aim being shifted somewhat by the attack but still tracking relentlessly towards Srael.

Form around the command deck other blasters began to fire, all of them tracking towards this puppet. For an instant Srael considered whether this was going to make things worse; that much blaster fire flying around on a command deck would be a bad idea under the best of circumstances, but with an increasing number of angry Force Spirits hanging around it was just asking for trouble. But the Shadow Walkers ignored the blaster fire, soaking it up rather than deflecting it by some means.

That was a problem in itself; the ability to absorb energy like that was one that some Force Users did develop, and it could represent an issue to enemies because they were able to shrug off blaster fire or even Lightsabres. That the Shadow Walkers were able to throw that kind of capability around...

"Cease fire!" Srael yelled over the sound of the blasters. He dipped into the Force, adding its potency to his words and hoping that _someone_ would hear at least; they couldn't afford to have weapons fire like this on a command deck.

The Shadow Walkers, he suspected, were at their wits end at this point, and running very low on power as well. His skill at manipulating people with words like that was limited, yet somehow he managed to reach every mind on the command deck, including the Shadow Walker's puppet.

The silence was almost deafening as Srael came gracefully out of his last roll and to his feet. Maintaining a grip through the Force, he held the tension in the air steady. He knew full well that if the Shadow Walkers broke his concentration he would be lost; the blaster was now pointing directly at him, and the troopers around the room might still have the reflex to fire if his hold was slackened.

None of this showed in his face or his attitude as he stepped forwards, his step bold and his expression determined. He kept his gaze on that of the Shadow Walker's puppet, refusing to let it back away, refusing to allow them to give in or turn away. It was, literally, a battle of wills, and even a minor slip could mean death. Only the dwindling power of the Shadow Walkers tipped the balance in Srael's favour, and even then the difference was minor enough that he wasn't even certain that it would really help for long.

It took only ten seconds to cross the command deck to where the Shadow Walker's puppet stood quivering as they desperately fought Srael for control, but those were long, drawn out seconds during which the ache in his chest and his mind grew as he drew on greater and greater energies from rapidly depleting reserves to hold the situation in check. By the time he was within arm's reach, he was almost at the point of exhaustion, and his control wavered alarmingly as he summoned the effort to reach up, twisting the gun from the puppet's hand.

Instantly the situation seemed to calm, as if the Shadow Walkers realised that their cause was lost now and had relented. Their puppet looked up with nearly lifeless eyes, meeting Srael's gaze listlessly. "We did not... Wish to die..." A hint of pleading crept into the collective voice as they continued. "We are... Too many... To be sustained like this."

"And you couldn't make a sensible attack," Srael replied, holding himself upright by the barest margins. "If you'd wanted to kill us you could have simply manifest in the engineering sections and torn out something vital. But you couldn't, could you? You had to have an audience, even when it meant that you were doomed to failure..."

"In this at least... We are the same..." There was now an edge of dry humour. "We are not your Prophets, but we still see things. We see a quest that will not end, a hunt that will run on into forever if it is allowed to. Turn back now," the voices warned as they began to fade out of hearing. "Turn back before you are no longer able to..."

Their puppet collapsed as the Shadow Walkers faded from sight, and Srael held himself upright as he turned to lieutenant Tacha. "See to it that he receives medical attention," he ordered. "And when captain Fyyar contacts us about his failure to capture Reeves..." He paused, gathering the strength to finish speaking. "Have our forces set of in the best guess of a pursuit course that can be extrapolated. Make sure that..." He wavered somewhat more than he had thought he would. "Get our agents on worlds-"

He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

* * *

_9 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_The Long Shot, Deep space, off the beacon network_

Rafe's awareness flickered slowly in and out of any conscious state for a few minutes before becoming coherent enough for him to be truly classed as being 'awake'. It was rare for this to happen to him; normally he slept lightly enough that any disturbance that required his attention could wake him fully almost immediately.

Now he found himself coming awake by degrees, and becoming aware of his surroundings equally slowly. He managed to work up the enthusiasm to open his eyes after a few minutes, and was greeted by a sight that would have set many men's hearts bounding.

"Not often I wake up to a sight like that," he murmured.

There was a sigh from somewhere above his head. "Travelling around on a ship like this with only Kyle for company, I'm not surprised," Srah declared as she drew back from where she had been leaning over him to look at the shelf beside his bunk. Despite her state of dress – an open front shirt was all he could see from his position – he could sense that she was drawing back for comfort, not for modesty. Certainly she didn't bother to cover up at all as she slouched at the far end of his bunk, watching him with a faint smile.

That attitude, her state of dress, even the smile, brought back memories that he hastily suppressed. Things were complicated enough as it was without thoughts like that creeping in and messing up the situation.

"What happened?" Rafe asked. His memories were a bit vague; escaping to a comet, flying towards it... Then pain. Sorrow...

"It was Neuook," Srah explained, her expression and sense shifting to one of regret, even remorse. "They bombed the planet just as we were diving in towards the comet. Kyle took a look through the Now when he came round; the entire planet's pretty much a massive radioactive crater right now. Everyone was wiped out..."

Rafe picked up on the flicker in her sense. This wasn't just second-hand pain that she was feeling, repeated from a description that someone else had given her. Since they had been flung back together again she had been studying some of the Force training that Rafe and Kyle had been willing to divulge. Evidently she had grown powerful enough to pick up on the same wave of death-pain that had assaulted him and Kyle.

"How long..?"

"You've been out for about twelve hours," Srah admitted. "Kyle was out for about six, I was out for about half an hour. Gates and Sthynn flew us out. Kyle checked on Neuook once he woke up. The _Stylite_ is still there, and the Dreadnaught that was following us has gone back there as well to back up the other one."

Rafe considered this for a moment, then frowned. "I have other questions," he warned her.

"Try me," she said, slouching into a different position.

"I'm in my bunk, no one seems to be in Kyle's... And there are eight of us on board..."

Srah nodded. "We decided that you needed the bunk; Kyle said that you were more open to the Now so you were hit worse when Neuook died. Kyle's sleeping in the pilot seat right now I think."

"He's done it before I suppose," Rafe admitted.

"Apparently. Gates doesn't need to sleep, but he's recharging in the machine shop. Sthynn and Rhyydonning are out there," she flicked her head towards the door, "in the lounge. Tetee... Don't ask me how, but that shower cubicle is currently humid enough that Kyle's probably going to have to treat it for rust damage in the near future."

"So where were you sleeping?" Rafe asked, trying to look serious and knowing what the answer would be.

Srah's smile told him all that he needed to; it wasn't like they hadn't shared a room before, not to mention a bed... At least Kyle's bunk actually had a lived-in appearance to it, suggesting that she had actually been in it.

"So where are we heading right now?" Rafe asked after allowing those thoughts to churn a bit. "We're still in hyperspace..."

"We're on route to Costance," Srah informed him. "That cargo that we picked up as our excuse for leaving was sitting in the hold and Kyle wanted to get rid of it. We might as well pick up some credits for delivering it to the right people..." She trailed off as she watched Rafe's expression. He was still slightly woozy from waking up, but he was coherent enough that he wasn't going to let one like that slip by him; Srah was hiding something big there.

She sighed, giving in after a moment. "I had a vision," she admitted. "You know how you always said that they couldn't be trusted because people went looking for them, and the harder you tried to dig something up the less likely you were to find a 'real' future..." She gritted her teeth, watching his unconvinced expression. "This one found _me_. I didn't go looking for it, I didn't ask for it. But I saw where we needed to go next, and I saw something wonderful happening there."

"Where?" Rafe asked sourly. "Costance?"

"Nope," she replied. "Pelgrin. Don't swear," she added quickly. "Kyle swore for nearly a minute when I told him that I'd set our course there, and he wouldn't explain why."

Rafe growled. "Seekers don't go to places like Pelgrin," he informed her, swinging himself out of the bunk and slipping out of his clothes, retaining enough self-consciousness to step behind the door of the small wardrobe whilst he changed into some that didn't feel quite so lived in. "There used to be a civilisation on Pelgrin, but they died out. The only real surviving part of their culture was a massive tower. If a Jedi meditated at the top of the tower, they would receive visions. They were always potent, always accurate, and typically of such visions, very rarely helpful in explaining themselves. Normally they were only useful in putting the pieces together afterwards, and _afterwards_ could be centuries later."

Srah tried to look apologetic, then frowned. "You said 'was'?"

"Was," Rafe agreed. "About eleven years ago someone attacked the tower, and reduced it to a pile of rubble. Bits of it are still intact, but that tower ain't helping anyone any more. Even the Jedi archivists gave up going through the ruins after a few months. The Antaran Rangers maintain a watchpost there, and that's _all_ that's there now. There is _nothing_ else on that planet."

Srah nodded slowly, but managed to appear determined. "We're still heading there," she warned him. "Even Kyle can't think of somewhere else to go. Maybe we'll find some other Jedi there; if it used to be one of their sites then it's likely that some of them might try to find their way there."

"We'll see," Rafe said, scowling as he stepped out, hooking his Lightsabre onto his belt as he stepped into the lounge.

* * *

_9 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_The Stylite, orbiting Neuook_

Emi stepped up to the entrance to the command deck, and then paused before the doors. Beside them stood a pair of clones, or at least people in clone trooper armour. Their build wasn't quite right however, and Emi suspected that these were normal Humans under the helmets.

Both of them turned their heads, just enough to look at her, their suspicion evident despite the faceless helmets. Neither made any move towards the controls for the doors.

Emi scowled inwardly, allowing just a hint of that feeling to leak out to her otherwise neutral expression. She wished somewhat that she had thought to bring her helmet with her; she wore the lighter arrangement of her armour, without some of the plating, or the jetpack, or the helmet, and she suspected now that it might have been a mistake. The clones made no regard for appearance, but the others... She was aware that she was one of only a handful of women on or around the command deck, and the only one on the entire ship not in a recognisable uniform. Even the similarities between her armour and that of the clones seemed to have the officers annoyed, as if she was aping their troops.

"I need access to the command deck," she informed them, a certain amount of resignation creeping into her voice.

"Captain Moven has left orders that you are not to be allowed access to the command deck," one of the troopers replied. Neither of them actually made a move as such, but there was a very definite edge that suggested they had a tighter grip on their weapons.

Emi hesitated for an instant, then carried on regardless. "I need to speak to lieutenant Tacha, regarding how best the Empire can use my services."

One of the troopers looked her up and down, and then exchanged a look with his comrade. Emi allowed a faint smile to creep out; the lighter armour was close-cut, leaving little to the imagination, and she knew that she was in good physical shape. "Not that kind of services," she assured them. "I understand that the Jedi that the Inquisitor was looking for are missing still. Finding missing people like that is my job," she added with a hint of professional pride.

After a brief pause one of the troopers murmured something that Emi didn't catch. The other didn't call him on it though, and Emi surmised that the trooper was looking for orders from higher up; sub-vocal microphones in helmets like that were tricky to use, and unlike her own helmet these ones clearly weren't designed for keeping even that minimal noise inside them.

There wasn't much of the conversation that she could hear, but she was aware of when it ended, and became very quickly impatient when there was no immediate move by either of the troopers to tell her what the outcome had been.

Iron self-control, and a determination not to be put down by the Imperial forces were all that kept her from openly loosing her temper with them. She was used to not being taken seriously; in her line of work the best known women tended to be the more lithe and athletic variety, which combined with her use of body armour to give people the impression that she was either a wimp, or a tomboy who was just playing and whom they didn't need to take seriously.

This was a different matter however; these people knew that she had been up against a pair of Jedi and come out unscathed. Someone should have checked their records on her by now and found out that she was genuinely competent rather than merely playing games. She was even reasonably certain that if it came down to it she could even take on this pair and probably most of the command deck personnel as well if it came to it.

Before she actually lost her temper however, someone stepped up behind her, and she turned to find lieutenant Tacha standing there. He was clad in a deck uniform rather than armour now, his hair tidied up and his face no longer carrying traces of dried sweat as it had after their arrival on the _Stylite_. Though he looked now a lot less rugged than he had during the bombardment of Neuook, he was, she supposed, a damned sight better looking for it; this was a young man who was not suited to armour but rather had almost been tailor made to wear a uniform and make it look good.

"I understand that you wanted to speak to me," he said, before seeming to consider his next words.

"Miss Kast, will suffice," Emi informed him. "There are no official ranks amongst bounty hunters such as myself."

"As you wish," Tacha said with a hint of a nod. "What did you wish to see me about?"

"Making myself useful," she replied. "I doubt that the Inquisitor chose to bring me along simply on the basis of one good deed. I emphasised my skills at investigation, and I'd like the chance to use them."

"Really?" Tacha asked, crossing his arms and watching her face carefully. "And what exactly do you propose?"

Emi shrugged. "I have the records that Atraas kept on the Jedi and those that they met with. Combined with any additional records, which I have no doubt that your forces copied from the palace's systems on your way through, and any additional intelligence, I should be able to provide you with some likely destinations that they would run to."

"We already have our own Intelligence forces working on the information from the palace," Tacha advised her. "How much more do you really think that you can come up with?"

Emi smiled faintly at him. "It's not the first time that I've been asked that," she replied. "All I'm asking for is the chance to prove that I can actually do this."

Tacha seemed to consider her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well," he said wearily, and a bit warily. "I'll have what information we have available on the Jedi and their companions forwarded to your quarters. Review it there, and report back to me with your findings within four hours. In the mean time we will be setting a course of Tagheleph," he added, flicking his head towards one of the troopers who touched the controls to open the doors to the command deck.

* * *

_9 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_The Long Shot, Deep space, off the beacon network_

Kyle stared out at the flickering lights of hyperspace, trying to find that once familiar comfort in it, and now finding that it now eluded him.

He knew the cause of this mood easily enough; the idea of visiting any place where visions of the future or past came was disturbing at best, and since the idea of going there came from a vision as well, he was doubly dubious about it. That it was Srah, whose talent for using the Force was still very untrained, that had received the vision, was less than helpful for his mood.

The silence of the ship – which was never a true silence with the various hums of power, engines, and so forth – allowed him a time to think, but also battered at him, running rings around his thoughts and tying his contemplations in knots. The darkness of Neuook, so obvious now that they had got away from it, hung over him still, but was made darker still by the emotional bloodstains that covered it and which had seared their way across his mind.

Unconsciousness, true unconsciousness where there is no awareness of the world at all, rarely comes to a Jedi. The best that many could hope for was to adapt themselves to the background sounds of the Force and count them merely as that: just background. Even in the deepest sleep the Force still touched you, whispering and murmuring through the nights.

What he had experienced though had been genuine unconsciousness, lacking any contact with the Force at all. The shock of that many deaths, transmitted through the tenuous link that the Dark Side still tied them to Neuook with, had been as startling as it had been distressing. It had wrenched at his mental core as much as the deaths of the other Jedi across the galaxy had done, and he had found himself retreating into unconsciousness gratefully.

Waking had been almost peaceful by comparison, finding himself in his bunk with no idea how long as passed. A medpac had clearly been applied to his more obvious injuries, including the burns from the Eye's warning and the sand-blasting that he had received during their escape from the palace. Rafe's recumbent form on the other bunk had been somewhat reassuring, even if his fellow Seeker wasn't willing to wake up quite yet.

His thoughts were derailed by the cockpit hatch hissing open, and he looked up to see Srah walking slowly in. She moved slowly, sitting in the co-pilot's seat and staring out of the canopy, her expression not exactly dead, but not giving much away despite that.

"Rafe's awake," she announced, offhandedly, after a moment's silence.

"Yeah, I felt that one," Kyle replied, his tone equally bland. "You tell him where we're going?" he added after another moment's pause, keeping his tone casual, even disinterested.

Srah snorted. "At least he didn't swear about it," she said, some of the bland tone dropping from her. "This is getting silly," she decided after another moment. "You owe me a story."

Kyle frowned. "How did you figure that one?"

"We got off Neuook. Which means that we've got to finish those stories that we were telling before. I hear about your family, you hear about Rhyydonning," she reminded him.

For a moment Kyle considered going back on that one. Srah had been getting bearable whilst they were on Neuook, but now that she had forcibly reminded them that she could have visions through the Force where they could not... It set her alongside other Jedi that couldn't appreciate what it really meant to be a Seeker.

The Dark Side was weakening though, and Kyle's curiosity was as strong as ever; companionship of some kind was a welcome change of pace. "Okay... You first though," he added quickly. "I went first last time."

For a moment Srah looked like she might argue that point. Then she nodded slowly, her face creased with more than a hint of pain.


	18. Flashback 7

_Two months before the instigation of Order 66_

_Khobi City, Manaan, Inner Rim_

Srah bounced on the balls of her feet a few times, trying to acclimatise herself to the local gravity; the shuttle that she had come in on had been running its artificial gravity at 0.9 gravities, whilst Manaan tugged at her with 1.3 gravities. It was aggravating, and she didn't really have the time to get used to it properly.

The customs officials, all locals to Khobi City most likely, were eyeing the group of them up carefully. Manaan had not had much to do with the rest of the galaxy since Kolto, the miracle healing substance derived uniquely from some of the native plantlife, had been superseded by Bacta. The changes had occurred long ago, and it was only Srah's research into the planet's background that meant that she knew anything about it at all.

Most of the Selkath lived in undersea cities now, with only a few of the former surface cities being inhabited. And even here the populations of Selkath were much lower than they had been at the height of the Kolto trade; a 50/50 split was normal back then, whilst now the surface cities were almost incursive beachheads, with the Selkath presence limited to customs officials and those serving the needs of the limited tourist trade.

That was fine to Srah, who had no intention of upsetting the locals if at all possible. She had already discovered that there were a number of visitors that the authorities wouldn't mind seeing the back of, and she had every intent of obliging them in that regard. But if she was still around to catch any heat from things then she knew that she wouldn't be given any leniency for her benign intentions towards them.

The inspection passed more easily than she had anticipated though. The inspectors were clearly not interested in finding anything to worry themselves about, probably expecting that the worst they would find was maybe some Spice, or a blaster that was more concealed than it should have been. Srah had been careful to brief her team on that side of things; weapons were visible, power packs were stowed separately, and a threat of abandonment hung over all their heads should they be arrested for something not related to the job.

As she stepped through the queue 'the job' came in overhead. It was a freighter, a Gallofree Yards Maka-Eekai L4000 design, which swung in overhead in a slow curve that spoke of a full cargo load.

Srah knew all about that freighter. She knew about the captain, the crew, the size, shape and distribution of the cargo, and the cargo that they would be carrying with them when they left Manaan.

The outbound cargo was what Srah was interested in. Manaan didn't have many exports without the former glory of the Kolto trade, but the major one was a series of delicacies based on the Kolto, amongst other things. Properly refined, Kolto could be used in ration packs, allowing them to double as medicine of a sort. Even when used in regular food it retained some of its healing properties, and the products ranged from alternative health foods to the more expensive delicacies that only the rich could afford.

It wasn't a big market by any standards. But it was a profitable one, with black-market operations all over the place. That freighter would be carrying enough refined Kolto when it left to easily match the price for the ship itself when she palmed both of them off to Atraas or one of his cronies.

A glance around showed her that none of her team were visible. That, at least, was according to plan. Whether they were actually in place remained to be seen of course. There was no reason that she knew of that they wouldn't be in place, since the last she had heard from Gyyhuunamung had been an all-clear telling her to come in to join them.

Srah headed out to the concourse, idling by some shop windows as she meandered in the general direction of the cargo docks. The Selkath didn't bother with much distinction between passengers and cargo, at last as far as arrangements in the spaceport went, so the same concourse served both in this area.

Loading droids came and went easily enough, along with astromechs, protocol and translation droids, and various organic personnel. Srah saw an amazing variety of droids was present; the Selkath didn't appear to buy from a single manufacturer when it came to their workforce. That worked fine for her; what looked like a standard LE series droid stalked past her going intently about its business with a toolkit clasped in one hand.

Srah didn't allow her gaze to linger on that droid, despite a burning desire to thump him resoundingly; even when he was working undercover Gates had no idea how to act any way other than supercilious. Certainly only an independent droid could get away with things like this, but only an independent droid would act like that, especially when wearing a restraining bolt (even if Gates was resistant to the things and that one was a fake).

Gyyhuunamung met her outside a restaurant. It was the multi-species, totally generic variety that popped up in spaceports the galaxy over, serving foods that were acceptable to just about everyone and drinks that ranged from mild to illegal.

Despite the two weeks that they had been apart they kept up the act of a couple of old friends meeting up by chance. Srah desperately wanted to dive into her lover's fur, to have him wrap himself around her like a blanket, just like he had the night before he left for Manaan. Even her nascent talent for the Force was enough to pick up similar feelings from him as well. They had been away too long, and she promised herself that she would make it up to both of them on the way out.

They sat in the restaurant, ordering a reasonably sized but overpriced meal, and chatted. For the most part their conversation was genuine; news that had come through the holonet since Gyyhuunamung had left, a few old glories that their respective covers stories would permit them to have both been involved in... Towards the end though, their conversation dropped into the verbal code that Srah had developed back during her days on Aounam when she had wanted to dodge Jedi Masters in order to arrange to meet up with people from the Academy.

As codes went it was quite successful; the conversation that they had sounded genuine enough, if laden with a few too many non-sequitors for someone who was actually paying attention and was already suspicious. It was comparatively easy to learn, once you knew the trick to it. Roughly translated, that section of their actual conversation ran as:

"Where's your brother?"

[He was heading for position,] Gyyhuunamung replied with a shrug that was itself a part of the code. [He seemed sure that he would be on time.]

"There's no reason that he wouldn't be," Srah replied. "Has Gates been strutting around like that the entire time he's been here?"

Gyyhuunamung churfed a couple of times at that. [I think that he's getting bored,] the Wookiee reasoned. [He knows not to mess things up though.]

"He'd better," Srah muttered. "What about the bar?"

[They put the offer up about an hour ago. The barkeep sent a runner a few minutes ago.]

"And the environmental systems?"

[Ready to go. As is Tetee, and the rest of the team. This is not our first job,] he reminded her as gently as possible.

Srah smiled, accepting the reminder with a nod. "How long until you need to be moving?"

[I should probably start now.] There was a hesitant quality to his tone. [You're still planning on getting out with us?]

"We've been apart for too long," Srah told him. "We need some time together, and it'll be at least a week otherwise."

Gyyhuunamung nodded slowly and stood, laying a few credits on the table as he did. [I will see you shortly then,] he murmured. [Don't be late.]

"As if I would be," Srah replied with a smile as he left.

She remained in the restaurant for a few more minutes, finishing off her meal and picking at the scraps of Gyyhuunamung's as well, before standing and heading for the door.

The plan, as it had been laid out originally, was relatively simple. In practise it had become a bit more complex as time went on.

At its simplest it was a shipjacking, intending to lay claim to a ship and escape before the crew realised what had happened. Doing that required that the ship be ready to leave, and preferably doing so legally, and that the crew should be occupied elsewhere at the time. For these reasons a section of the water mains had been equipped with temporary furniture, and the restaurant had suffered a case of virabug infestation, whilst a virus found its way into the mainframe of the spaceport on Tureus.

As Srah wandered back through the concourse, admiring the views, she smiled at the sight of a party of Rodians in shabby, though consistent, uniforms. They were moving with considerable determination, lead by the one who was captain if the amount of mismatching gold brocade was anything to go by. They seemed quite excited as they headed into the restaurant that Srah had just left.

That was easy for Srah to explain to herself; Rodia had developed some beverages over the years, and most of them had been difficult to export, and thus tended to cost quite a bit off-world. Most Rodians never even tasted them, but some, like the freighter's crew, had got the taste for it. One of the reasons that the drinks were so awkward to export was that they reacted badly to a variety of things, including insecticides used against virabugs. It didn't cause them to immediately go wrong, but did mean that they were going to be deteriorating rapidly in a few hours. The restaurant's owner had clearly decided that a crew of Rodians who were known to like such drinks would be open to the offer of cheap drinks for a few hours.

That took care of most of the crew.

Srah tapped a stud on her collar a couple of times, triggering the comlink built into it to signal the others that the plan was going ahead.

The second part was up to Gates. Having worked his way onto the freighter, he needed to convince the rest of the crew to leave, which shouldn't be too hard with the ICE-breaker that Tetee had written up for him, and instructions on how to trigger a mishap in the ship's gravity plating. Even seasoned spacers who were used to misaligned gravity plating and could handle shifting through the 90° discontinuity in a gunwell turret were susceptible to seasickness, and the subtle shifts in the ship's gravity would soon drive out those with everything except the sternest stomachs.

Srah got there as what looked like the last of the crew bailed out, some of them standing upright, whilst most were at least leaning heavily on each other or the ship's hull. A couple of them were on the floor, dignity forgotten altogether as they lost whatever their last meal had been. Given the colour of the remains Srah wasn't sure that she wanted to know what it had been originally.

She slipped away as the local security force began taking an interest. Mostly they were dressed in light armour, a couple of them sporting the armoured water-filled bubble-helmet used by those who hadn't fully gotten over the idea of having to breathe air rather than water. A couple though were dressed in even lighter armour, which had clearly been designed to be more decorative than actually protective, but without the impracticality that usually went with such armour. Clearly these people were something special, who nonetheless expected to be engaging in genuine practical work.

It worried Srah that she didn't know who they were; in her line of work any slight slip-up because of missing information could cause huge problems later on. Finding out that she didn't know about some branch of the planet's security force was annoying. There wasn't much that she could do about it though, and they didn't look like much. If it came down to a fire-fight, they probably wouldn't be too much trouble.

Apparently satisfied that the issue with the crew was a mechanical fault with their ship and not some precursor to trouble, the security forces dispersed in short order, leaving the Rodians arguing over who would risk loosing their lunch next by going in and trying to work out what was wrong.

At the same time, according to the timing of the plan that Srah had laid out, Gyyhuunamung would be entering the ship through the cargo hatch on the far side once Gates opened it, whilst Tetee got in through the ship's maintenance crawlways, having found her way out of the water mains where she had been gaining access to the spaceport's secured datalines.

To do them justice, they were indeed secure; no one in any kind of environmental suit or with underwater breathing gear to last for any real length of time would have been able to get at those lines without becoming stuck down there or lighting up the sensor grid. The Selkath, knowing that they were water breathers and that most off-worlders weren't, had decided that the water mains was a safe place to hide the secure datalines. They just hadn't counted on a Mon Calamari data-addict.

Her own means of gaining entry was going to be more tricky than that; she was on the wrong side of the ship for such an entry, and she knew that there wasn't going to be any way of getting around the other side by easy means. Gyyhuunamung had access as a mechanic to get into such areas.

She hurried up the stairs to one of the overhead walkways, moving as casually as her long experience taught her to. As she came up to the walkways, a public access area that offered better views of ships arriving and the city itself, she smiled at the sight of a Wookiee wearing a bandoleer, most of the pockets of which were filled with artistic supplies. A canvas was held in one arm, and the tip of a tongue was just visible at the corner of his mouth as he tried to capture the way that the light reflected off the city's armoured integument. It was a good piece of work, which Srah was almost ashamed to have to take with them; work like that could fetch a good price to the right people around here, but would be too easily traceable; Rhyydonning's style wasn't unique, but could be reasonably easily traced.

"Ready?" she asked, leaning on the rail and looking down on the freighter.

[A few seconds more,] he replied, lightly brushing a blue pastel across part of the canvas before nodding and packing everything away. The canvas went into a case rather than a bag, and the whole lot was quickly sorted. He cast one last look around as he folded up the single legged seat that he had been sitting on. The thing was a reasonably well disguised blaster, designed for limited use but high accuracy. In theory Rhyydonning had been there to cover their retreat should anything go wrong.

The next part of the plan was reasonably simple, because it involved merely being convincing on a comlink, which her team could do. That Gates could speak Rodese with a suitable accent was helpful of course.

The virus that had been introduced to the freighter through the Tureus spaceport systems wasn't actually dangerous. But it did look dangerous, and was designed to be intelligent enough to jump itself around by any means necessary. By now Gates should have been calling in an alert about the virus, along with a warning about the need to shut down all wireless network connections in the spaceport. That was impossible of course, given the number of open access systems that would be around. That left only one option, and the spaceport officials would be moving to make it happen very quickly; give the ship clearance to leave and get it outside general wireless range, with its hyperspace radio and any other wireless links shut down. The physical range was to prevent the virus jumping through the short-range wireless links of a datapad or comlink that might not be shut down.

The engines were going before the crew even realised that something was wrong, and the security forces were pulling them back before they could cause trouble; with the crew split between the restaurant and the ship, and the confusion of them leaving the ship under such awkward conditions, it was easy to claim that someone had remained aboard. The entire crew would have to reconvene and do a headcount, which would be impressive with some of them feeling queasy and most of the rest of them being drunk.

As the freighter began to lift itself up, the engines misfired, and Srah winced as the entire thing lurched sideways, catching one of the support struts heavily as it did. "He's overdoing it a bit there," she muttered as the freighter straightened out and began to turn, heading for the exit.

Srah and Rhyydonning ran along the walkway, keeping back from the edge as the freighter heaved itself around. At the last possible instant the freighter lurched once more, throwing itself towards the walkway. As it approached, the cargo hatch opened, and Srah and Rhyydonning had just enough time to leap into it as the freighter's erratic course carried it up against the walkway before it pulled out again, the engines still spluttering as it left the dock.

"That was enthusiastic," Srah said as she picked herself up and brushed down the front of her jacket. As they pulled away the sound of the engines began to even out. "Possibly a bit rough getting out though," she added.

[I am sure that Gates did the best that he could,] Gyyhuunamung said as he came over to join Srah and his brother. [We needed it to look convincing.]

"How about the orbital track?"

[The droid knows what he is doing,] Gyyhuunamung assured her. [We have plotted several orbital positions from which we can jump out without being obvious about it. Tetee's sensor ghosts will keep them wondering for a few hours at least after that.]

[And by the time they realise that anything is wrong we will be several systems away,] Rhyydonning agreed. [You can stop worrying,] he told her, resting a massive furry hand on her shoulder.

Srah nodded in agreement, but then frowned again. "I don't know... Somehow that seemed too easy..." The brothers exchanged a look, and Srah grinned, trying to make light of it. "Don't worry about me; it's my job to panic about things like this."

As she turned towards the door, Gyyhuunamung called after her, [the captain's cabin is the third on the left out of the door. It looks comfortable,] he added wistfully.

Srah smiled over her shoulder at him. "Well, that's something that we'll have to test, isn't it?"

[We could do with some help moving things around first,] Rhyydonning pointed out. [The locals moved stuff around quickly enough, but they didn't stack it tidily.]

"I'll be right back to give you a hand with it," Srah assured him. "Just as soon as I've checked out the bridge and made sure that Tetee is settled."

Gates and the extras that she had hired to assist with this job were all handling things on the bridge easily enough, and by the time Srah got to Tetee they had already made the jump to hyperspace. The Mon Calamari was already sleeping in the communal showers, her eyes flickering in the hyperfast REM of a data-addict. Srah decided not to bother her on that one.

Rather than going straight to the cargo hold though, she stopped off in the captain's cabin. It wasn't much to look at as such; Srah liked things to look reasonably expensive, whilst the captain of this ship clearly was more bothered about being comfortable than having something nice to look at. The bed _did_ look very comfortable though, and she prodded it to test that. Smiling at the feel, she tried sitting on it, then flopped back and rolled around laughing to herself.

After a couple of minutes she recovered herself and pulled herself up enough to examine the collection of drinks that was by the bed. Most of them weren't that exciting, but there were a couple of them that she liked the look of. She idly poked at them, before selecting one that she actually recognised and pulling the cork from the bottle. She took a quick swig, and mulled it around a bit as she considered the taste. It wasn't the best, but-

A massive crash came from down the corridor, and Srah hauled herself to her feet, wondering how the bottle in her hand had become so empty. She hit the controls for the door and swung around the doorjamb as another crash drew her attention towards the cargo bay.

She reached the bay door, throwing herself into the gap between the door and the corridor wall before hitting the control to open the door. Another crash rang out, counterpointed by the sound of blasters set on stun. When nothing immediately seemed to come her way, Srah risked a glance into the bay.

It was a scene of chaos in there. The cargo crates were all over the place, and both Wookiees had dived for cover behind some of the more sturdy ones, from behind which they were firing flurries of shots at the figure in the middle of the floor.

The figure was a Selkath, and clad in the same formal style of uniform that some of the others had been back at the spaceport. And now that she saw one of them in action, Srah was able to understand what that uniform meant.

The figure dived and rolled as Rhyydonning's shots passed him, then flicked a hand in the Wookiee's direction. Even untrained as she was, Srah felt the shockwave that passed through the Force as the Selkath bent it to his will, driving a wave of energy onwards towards where Rhyydonning was hiding. He barely dived aside in time as the crate he was using as cover was slammed backwards into the wall.

Srah didn't wait for any kind of follow-up to that one, pulling her blaster out and angling a shot at the back of the Selkath's head. Her blaster was a modified one, capable of burning through serious armour in a single shot, which made it overkill against an unarmed target like this. But this kind of stopping power might be necessary against someone that powerful.

That power made it tricky to take him out at all though, as he spun, flicking a hand in her direction and tossing several loose boxes towards her. Her shot passed through three of them before the fourth stopped it, but the debris from those, as well as the others that she hadn't hit, drove her back behind the doorjamb again.

"I recognised your intent when you were down on the surface," the Selkath called out to them, his tone menacing even through the mangled accent that made you think he was trying to gargle. "It wasn't hard to see what you were doing. I wouldn't have come aboard like this unless I was sure that I could handle all of you," he warned them.

Srah tried to remember what state the hold had been in, trying to place him in it as she did. He was moving quietly, but given where both of the Wookiees had been hiding, and her position by the door, there were some areas that he definitely couldn't move to... She could almost visualise him in relation to her own position, and the exact sequence of moves that she would need to make...

"You touch the Force," he called out to her, causing her to start. He sounded like he was moving again, and the sound of crates and boxes shifting suggested that he was building himself some new places to move, as well as clearing out some ammunition. "Your thoughts betray you. You are clearly not a Jedi, and you are untrained. Return with me to Manaan and I can promise you training once you have served your time for your crimes."

Srah grinned. She'd been missed out for training in the Force once already. All of the training in the galaxy wouldn't make up for a stain on her otherwise spotless business record.

"So be it," he declared, apparently picking up on her thoughts. That was all of the warning that she got before she had to throw herself forwards, barely avoiding being thrown as a wave of force slammed into the other side of the bulkhead that she was leaning against. Had she remained where she was that would probably have been damaging to say the least, if not fatal to judge from the way that the bulkhead had caved in.

The sound of blasters once again echoed around the hold once more as both Wookiees took offence at the attack, and the sound of displaced air responded as the Selkath returned fire with the Force.

Srah picked herself up, keeping over to the side so that she wouldn't present a target, and then turned sharply when she head sparks. One of the hold's control panels had been built into the doorway, and was now fizzing as the wires shorted out against each other. A terrible premonition overtook her an instant before one spark too many jumped, and sirens sounded, announcing that the hold's main door was opening.

Srah barely managed to wedge herself into the doorway as explosive decompression took hold. She was blurrily aware through the Force of three minds within the hold, two of them familiar and the third unknown. But her talent was too limited to tell more than that as the Selkath and one of the others was torn out of the hold and into the blurring expanse of hyperspace.

It was only seconds later that the hold began to close again, and nearly another minute before Srah was able to stand and stagger into the hold to look around.

Crates had been strewn around, most of the larger ones having slipped their moorings at the last second before the hold was sealed. All of the smaller ones had vanished out of the hatch.

Entirely on instinct she staggered towards the one mind that was left in the hold. It was so faint... So empty...


	19. Chapter 11

_9 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_The Long Shot, Deep space, off the beacon network_

Srah had bowed her head, turning away from Kyle just enough that he couldn't see the tears on her cheeks, even as he sensed them. "I checked later," she said, her voice tightly controlled. "The Order of Sasha is a local Force tradition going back four thousand years to the days of the wars with the Sith. Manaan was neutral back then, but some Sith tried corrupting Selkath Force Sensitives to the Dark Side. They were freed eventually, but they were scared of what might have happened. So the Order of Sasha was set up to provide a group of defenders against any Sith or Jedi threats that might emerge.

"Since then they've become more of a spiritual police force, with regular duties to keep things interesting. We just got unlucky that one of them was hanging around and spotted us in action, and decided to do something about it. He was killed, Gyyhuunamung was killed... And Rhyydonning was left without a mind.

"Brain damage was repaired quickly enough, but his memory was gone. He doesn't even know that he even _had_ a brother, let alone that he died..." She trailed off, taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself.

Kyle hesitated, allowing her time to get herself in check. He could fill in some of the rest of this himself, but didn't especially want to in case he got it wrong somehow. But it explained a lot about Rhyydonning, right down to the lack of any echoes of a past that would normally have been visible in the Now.

He frowned as something occurred to him though. Rhyydonning was meant to be the artistic one, whilst Gyyhuunamung was the musical one...

"You're sure that it was Rhyydonning that survived?" he asked cautiously. Even without an ability to see the future through the Force he could tell that this could go very badly if he handled it wrong. But being a Seeker meant seeing and knowing things that other people didn't know, and even Kyle gave into haphazard curiosity once in a while.

Srah tensed at his question however, and Kyle almost wished that he could take back those words. It was a stupid thing to ask since it had happened two months ago... But something had told him that it was a pertinent question.

"Gyyhuunamung died," Srah declared, with all of the conviction of someone who desperately hopes not to be proven wrong. "The man that I loved died, and his brother was left with no memory at all..." She trailed off, almost into a sob, before standing up and leaving abruptly.

Kyle sat back, staring out into hyperspace and wishing that things could have gone better. Now that he had heard her story he honestly wished that he could take back the deal; he didn't feel that he would be able to live up to his end of the bargain now...

* * *

In the cabin, Rafe lay back in his bunk, gently tickling Rees behind the ears as the little Muttamok lay on his chest, twitching in his sleep as he dreamed. _That, was something to think about_, he told himself slowly.

* * *

_9 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_The Stylite, on course to Tagheleph_

Tacha was pulling on one of his much underused off-duty sets of clothes when the alarm by his cabin door chimed. For a moment he paused to consider who that might be; most people would contact him through the intercom, and the only person to visit him here before was Inquisitor Srael, who hadn't bothered waiting to be let in.

Stepping up to the door, Tacha touched the control next to it and was surprised to find Emi Kast standing on the other side of it.

She proffered a datapad before he could speak. "I think I know where they're heading," she announced.

Tacha accepted the datapad carefully, looking down at the surface of it with a certain amount of confusion. The chart appeared, at first glance, to be some kind of relationship diagram, plotting connections between different things. But he quickly realised that there were several layers of complexity built into it that he couldn't even begin to guess at the significance of.

"This doesn't mean much to me," he admitted. "So if this is your proof..."

"They're heading for Costance," Kast said, her tone remarkably certain.

Tacha considered, and then shook his head. "I've never heard of it," he replied bluntly.

"It's a trading post of sorts. Mostly legal, but with a heavy layer of illegal traffic of various sorts. There was a cargo that a trader was trying to be transported to Costance. The package vanished, and your records don't include any details about where it went. On the other hand the Twi'lek trying to get it moved was seen in the company of one of the Jedi, and Atraas' guards reported them being almost familiar with each other. There are other clues; a few hints here and there, nothing more. But it's the best guess that you're going to get at this rate."

Tacha frowned at the datapad again, his feelings about this idea mixed. On the one hand he had to admit that there had clearly been a lot of work put into this chart, and he had no doubt based on the intelligence reports that he had read that Kast was capable. But this kind of loosely connected reasoning struck him as being too close to relying on evidence from the Force.

"I'll check with Intelligence," he offered. "They may not have all of the evidence that you did, but at least they'll be able to confirm some of it. I'll also pass it onto the Inquisitor," he added. "He may not understand it any more than me, but he is the final authority in these matters, and he may decide to simply trust you on the subject."

Kast nodded, and then paused rather than leaving. "May I ask a question?"

Tacha shrugged. "Ask away. I'll try not to be offended if I don't approve of it."

She smiled faintly in reply. "You've never really seemed to approve of me; is there a reason for that?"

For a moment Tacha considered dismissing the question, but paused to consider instead. "Simply? You've come out of nowhere, and the Inquisitor appears to have taken a liking to you. My own position in the grand scheme of things is vital to the continuation of our mission, but you may, intentionally or otherwise, disrupt that. I don't like the idea of being usurped like that."

She nodded slowly, seeming to consider his words carefully. "I don't intend to take your place," she informed him. "Far from it; your position here is one that I don't envy and wouldn't want to take from you. My area of expertise is more in intelligence and field work of a different kind to anything that your taskforce currently has available. Since Atraas won't be paying me any time in the near future, I need some kind of employment. The Inquisitor... I think that I caught him off guard. I didn't expect to find someone here who spoke Mandalorian, and yet he does. He intrigues me," she concluded, "which is another reason that I'm hanging around."

Tacha tried not to laugh at that one. "Don't try getting attached to him," he advised. "The Inquisitor is very hard to get to know; I've been assigned to him since the start of this operation, and I barely know him at all. And he's hard; not in a good way. Anyone else would have hesitated, debated, considered... He simply ordered the destruction of an entire world, seemingly without a second thought. When he can do things like that, I'm not entirely certain that I would _want_ to be able to empathise with him."

Kast shrugged. "It's something that makes him the right person to do his job," she pointed out. "Just like we have things that make us good for our jobs."

* * *

_10 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Wings of Aerolon, orbiting Costance_

Warm air washed down the passageway, bringing with it the smell of fuel, engine exhaust, industrial waste, and almost too many people for the atmospheric processors to handle. The walls were a grimy shade of pale brown, and had a very industrial feel to them, which was matched by the rest of the spaceport.

The _Wings of Aerolon_ was a massive orbital facility, acting as the principle spaceport for Costance. It had been designed and built to be purely functional, in keeping with the attitude of the people down on the surface; cybernetics were a way of life on a planet where the atmosphere was so heavily polluted that children had to be birthed in hermetically sealed chambers and almost immediately fitted with filters in their lungs.

Rafe had started choking almost as soon as he stepped off the _Long Shot_, unused to the level of pollution in the air. Even Kyle and Srah, both seasoned veterans of dingy starports and orbital bases, had only been willing to proceed once they had managed to get some filter masks for themselves.

The natives were the principle figures on the _Wings of Aerolon_; the only others that came to a place like this generally had a reason for wanting to do business that made the need for filter masks or an atmospheric suit a minor inconvenience at worst. Large areas had been set aside where the atmosphere could be cleared to allow for easy business, but the natives had steadfastly refused to do anything about the passageways and halls.

Kyle had decided very quickly to keep business here to a minimum. Srah had been equally willing to get moving, and not very keen on the idea of trying to run off with someone else's ship in the process. Even allowing for her vision of Pelgrin, she had no desire to suffer the complications that would ensue from an attempt to run off with a ship from a place like this.

"It should be..." Kyle looked around at the various signs that hung above doorways around them, as another wave of engine exhaust washed over them. There was, it had quickly become apparent, no real distinction between the starport side of affairs, and the populated areas, with the direct effect that it was not only hard to tell what part of the station you were in, but the exhaust from arriving and departing ships was allowed to move freely around the station.

Kyle blinked away tears as the combination of gases seared his eyes, and found that whatever had set them watering was lingering enough that he wasn't going to be able to simply ignore it, or get rid of it quickly. Through watery vision he looked at the signs again, before finally deciding which one looked the closest and heading for it.

The door was an airlock arrangement, and they both sighed with relief as cool, almost frigid, clean air were blasted over them, clearing even the worst of the stench that they had picked up in their brief time on the station.

"That's a relief," Srah said, looking around the dingy airlock. "I can't believe that these people breathe that muck."

"I can," Kyle assured her. "I just hope that whoever this," he checked the datapad with the contact details on it, "Jora Keks is, he likes our kind of air."

Srah nodded in agreement, then gestured for Kyle to lead the way as the doors opened.

The room beyond the airlock was clearly intended only as a meeting room; there were limited facilities, all clearly labelled in various languages, and all of which clearly led nowhere beyond themselves. The room itself was large enough to hold a sturdy and industrial looking conference table capable of seating eight people comfortably. Chairs were mostly a standard design, but none were adaptable to fit heights or builds other than the entirely average native, which was just slightly larger than comfortable for an average sized Human.

Decidedly larger than the average sized native though, was the occupant of the seat at the head of the table. A Gamorean, a hulking porcine figure with green skin and a lot of bulk to him, looked up from a datapad as the pair of them entered, and then turned and grunted something in the direction of a lump in the middle of the table.

A hologram, about half a metre tall, appeared in the middle of the table. It was of a female Twi'lek, lithe, nicely curved, and standing in a posture that was just short of provocative. Despite the low resolution, heavy scan-lines, and overwhelming blue colour of the hologram, it was clearly intended to be attractive.

Kyle found that somewhat confusing; the idea of someone providing a hologram that a Twi'lek found attractive wouldn't be surprising if a Twi'lek was actually present.

"Master Keks wishes to know whether you have come to the correct room," the hologram informed the pair of them. The voice was clearly designed with the same thought in mind as appearance.

Kyle flashed Srah a startled look. "I'm here to meet with a Jora Keks, regarding a package that was being transported from Jorrie."

The Gamorean cast a suspicious look at him, then grunted heavily. "Master Keks informs me that he was not expecting Humans," the hologram translated. "May we enquire where the package currently is?"

"It's back on my ship," Kyle informed them, not entirely certain whether he was meant to be talking to the hologram or the Gamorean. Gamoreans were notoriously bad-tempered, and the idea of one being in charge of something like this was a bit odd. "I just had instructions to get in touch and arrange for it to be picked up."

The Gamorean grunted a bit in response, and the hologram nodded. "Master Keks informs me that he will make arrangements for some loading droids to come to your ship and collect the package. They will be with you within the hour, if that is satisfactory."

"Very," Kyle agreed. "I've got business to be getting around to elsewhere, and this place isn't doing some of the people with me any good at all."

"They will be with you within the hour then."

* * *

Rafe was waiting for them when they got back. He had brought up the bulkhead that covered the top end of the _Long Shot_'s ramp. It wasn't often used, and Kyle was somewhat surprised to see that it still worked; the only time it was normally active was during an overhaul of the ship, when it was generally found to be suffering from under use.

"Biree left while you were gone," he informed the pair of them without preamble. "I get the impression that she was keen to be moving on quickly before anything else happened."

* * *

Biree collapsed onto the bed in the residential block, glad that these rooms at least had ventilation independent of that of the rest of the station. That jumped the price up quite a bit, but she was willing to live with the minimal accommodations that went with it if it meant that she could breathe easily.

She had said only brief goodbyes to the others. It was the nature of her work that such partnerships were formed and broken quickly and easily. This one had been more profitable than some, but less so than others; she had come away with her life after all, but was now at something of a loose end...

* * *

_11 Days after the instigation of Order 66_

_Planes of Hysterius, Pelgrin_

The windswept cliff-top granted the three of them a perfect view of the ruins of the tower and the surrounding settlement. A few grasses and a single bush did nothing to provide shelter from the constant evening breeze that rolled down off the hills and tried to gently push them off the edge.

It wasn't likely to happen; Kyle leant against a rock, anchoring himself more firmly than he needed to and wishing that they didn't have to be here at all. Srah and Rafe, both natives of a world where this kind of wild country was a matter of an hour's walk in any direction, were, despite their respective concerns about the planet, enjoying the surroundings and the chance to get out in the fresh air for once; Costance, and the proceeding journey to Pelgrin, had left them both more weary of artificial environments.

"This place is amazing," Srah said with a smile.

Kyle looked out across the valley before them, trying to see what the shipjacker saw. There was a kilometre of open ground he guessed, mostly grassland with small trees dotted around, before the edge of the ruins. The ruins were mostly wrecked prefabricated structures and things made out of local stone and blocks; the homes used by the people who had been researching the Oracle and its mysteries until the attack which had brought down the tower.

The tower itself, the Oracle of Pelgrin, had once stood eighty eight metres high, a massive construct of stone and metal, a hollow column that decreased slowly in size as it rose until it reached its peak. Within it had been a morass of cogs and gears, without apparent purpose until a Jedi had chosen to meditate within the massive crystal construction at the top of the tower. Only then had the tower woken, the gears and cogs moving of their own accord as the tower drew on the Force, providing a focus for those who sought visions of the past or future.

Now it stood in ruin; only ten metres of it remained standing, and even this was partially buried by the wreckage of the rest of the tower. The main entrance was just about visible through the electrobinoculars that Kyle had checked it with before handing them over to Srah.

"Do you have any idea of what we're meant to do now?" Kyle asked, gesturing towards the ruins. "We're here on your advice after all."

"I really wish that you'd stop going on about that," Srah said sharply, and with a hint of exasperation. "All I know is that we're meant to be here and... Something amazing happens. I'm fairly certain that it's meant to happen around the tower."

"Well the tower looks like the best place to be then," Rafe declared with the casual air of one to whom a ten kilometre hike was a weekly occurrence at least and a kilometre hike of this kind was practically unnoticeable.

Kyle restrained a groan. He much preferred the athletic aspects of being a Jedi to the long hauls of this kind. "Couldn't we just get the _Long Shot_ and fly over there rather than having to walk there and back?"

Rafe threw a look at him which suggested a lack of patience with the idea.


End file.
